Mist

Beneath the Cedar's stare
stands the darkest hour
watching the bruised moon in silence
with jade woodland eyes
enrobed in the blackest velvet
she pours the meads of asphodel
and the invigorated skies weep with new-found life.

Suffused with deep colours of life
with no beginning and no end
her lips tremble to the first sip
from the rented porcelain
to forget and forgive
crisp leaves and ebony sing with her
the dissonant requiems of fainted hope

As the dawn descends
she lays on the silent earth
when the wind calls out her name
the daughter of disenchant
besieged in her fated marbled stone
waves goodbye to her red roses
and to her mist that stands guard.