Darkrose

Darkrose

Monday, January 4, 2016

Desolate

Some die looking for a hand to hold,
Clinging to something that was never there,
Alone, watched from the shadows
Or not watched at all.
And we of stone,
Transform, vaporous upon an icy wind
Condemned to the edge of the world
Beyond the deep horizon.
Alone, together,
Evermore.