desolate
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Remorse of the Reavers
Crestfallen feathers and Spindlewood smoke
exhaust from the clashing Colossals asunder
The wail of the bairn crosses plains unforeseen
towards her cove where the she-beast lay broken
No one had prepared me
For Winter.
That black cold
Struck you to the bone.
Not even the moon shone
Through my smog.
I've been here before.
Desolate feelings creep in
before I get a chance
to close this door,
once again.
The song of my soul is playing,
The beat entrapping me, surrounding me
Lifting me up at all times,
So why is your shroud still here?
No matter how far I run,
I could even fly away,
Terror and fright consume me:
Light leaves and dark trails behind me.
I am forever alone with no one near or close,
In this secluded island, I stand morose.
