Silence greets the dawn of the day here. The grey sky holds aloft a sun that shall shine no brightness and no warmth to soften the chill. No artist palette breaks through the pallor of God's purity blanket. No hope. No breeze will stir grey leaves. Here amidst the still dead branches of iron wood trees there is no sound of man or beast. No creature shall play along the vast white sea. No ripples shall mar the flawless stasis of its pristine carpet. Neither laughter nor word shall ever carry through the frozen life. Earth ends and spreads into the death of life giving fluid. At winters mouth behold her stone sentinel. A lonely and poignant vision it offers. No breeze will arise to ruffle the open pages held by slender marble fingers; Nor shift the glacial glove of equal pallor at its core. There will never be a voice to give life the words scrawled so elegantly and yet so tragically across those pages. Only the echo of a ghost, felt not seen, gives a sense of despair to any who enter into the dead ice dream and let sing his eternal pain to all whom would seek the source of such devil anguish.
"Where you walked music played gentle autumn notes to your courtly fantasy. Your eyes lingered soft secrets and a delicate untapped passion. No simple gesture was lost to neither simplicity nor the mundane. The breeze itself was your lover. It touched upon you and was as my hand. It kissed your lips and was as my lips. It teased your sighs and I remembered the moist breath on my neck when you whispered my name. Words were more intimate than tongues. They caressed and flowed through your lips as warm honey. And when you looked at me there was no god but the deity's we created through the communion of souls. It left me vulnerable and weak at the mercy of rapture. You were the warmth in the bleak of winter. The solace from a ruthless chill. I am lost to your memory. I am lost…"

The sound of water ceased and set in vitreous blue carries into the horizon to meet a grey cloudless sky. The surface calmed and silent seems innocent and tragic all at once. Through its glass the open eyes of poet and lover stare for all time into the ashen sky. His flesh as colourless as the surrounding world, his emotion formed as solid as the ice that forms his eternal grave. Here his loneliness curses all life into obscurity. The heart that beat into emotion, the hand that penned emotion into word, forever cast into the depths of winter despair for the loss of passion. All colour bled from the world, all that is life removed… for the want of his Lady love.


-A work in progress. Still not happy with the wording.-

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