There is sadness in his eye

There is sadness in his eye, the fallen king,
the torn and shattered marshalling of his kin,
the twisted ways of Wyrd, the mourning wails,
the women dressed in raven wings, eyes black as night, singing
out the keening dirges of the battle slain: woe to all
who survive such death, the slayer's blazoned craft;
for now they must live with strange knowledge,
myths and legends, fierce progeny of the mind's altered light:
bones of contention, ancestral mounds, the head's dark laughter:
night after night, I ponder this man's life, the moving tongue,
the glazed indifference of his empty skull; chancing all,
I wander these blood fields, seeking answers
to my black heart's seeming pride, perchance I might
discover old friends in the mist, the gaze, warm flesh
rising to meet me on moor and glen; the frozen stare,
the cold emblazon of this victory measured in markings of the moon:
the quick light of those guests out of other realms, the faërie sith,
who, wind walkers all, cross the boundaries between night and day,
traveling in hidden guise, betraying the dark hidden life
that is the earth's legacy: the warrior and his bride,
the Elvin gleam of eyes, the hands betrothal, wild enchantments of the heart:
twice in a life, the secret hand reveals the rose; the blue passion, mystery of love.

- Earthwizard, aka, Steven Craig Hickman
©December 8,2003