As the sun disappeared on a graveyard of frost,
I sat in the dry and straw-like grass,
My mind occupied by loved ones lost,
Etched on tombstones of those long passed.
Voices of ghosts howled on a black gale
And my heart on a sudden became crestfallen.
For in trying to find my next lyric, I fail.
My senses, transfixed on the trees, were stalling.
For I found myself think of the loss of my mother,
A woman taken some ten years passed.
And when then the thought of my recent lost lover
Arose, my heart was gripped with aghast.
The twilight had settled, I returned to my notes,
But my hands were left raw by icy swords
Of cold that could crack and make bleeding provoke.
I threw my ill thoughts to the Winter wind chords.
But melancholy seized me with fire and smoke,
As I found beauty in sadness and the dead.
Intrigued by my loss, the spirits awoke
And ravages of age swirled in my head.
A gust saw the sheets of my poems go sailing,
As if to purposefully capture my glance.
In between headstones, a banshee unveiling
Standing, staring, silent in the distance.
My warm living eyes met sight of my love,
Her soul lingered for now within ancient husk.
My angel and I, ignored from above,
Left alone to disintegrate into the dusk.
– 2010
P.S.Clinen 