February 16, 2005

Shadows grow into rivers

of smoky darkness

As the winding trails become

harder and harder to follow.

Rowan glides on feet of silken silence

through a forest house

enshrouded with snow.

The days have been cold

as I keep the wake of this journey.

Rowan speaks not, as always

of our course or our quest.

God, if only ‘Nia were here

to warm the days and nights.

But it is merely the two of us,

Lord Rowan and I, Amiel,

The Rune.

The rune that is in stone

that wrought its own imagery

To be free from a weight

that overcast even the night shadows.

But I failed and now take the path

of Rowan, into an unknown world.

I am alive, though, and Rowan is enough.

If I cannot escape the past

Perhaps the future will take me away.


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