A chunk off the old poetry brick

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Bard’s Tear


What mercy has this castle of old,
where Dawn rises on her throne of gold,
where shadow now harbor and life now bold
where Dusk devour
a copse of mold?

How long has been this bard’s tear,
when grey takes hold and finds adhere,
but stares not he into the yore of past
but into him,
a hollow cast?

Why must tears water their roots,
when a bard has cast his faithful lute,
when leaves are prone to hear the pleas,
Such cries do
his humor lease?

Bard alone can stay so long,
lute abandoned and harmony gone,
why alone these tears with moon,
Is his facepaint
now his doom?

Hope not found in impersonate sky,
the mold upon the song will die,
flames his love has been cast,
For his laugh,
will it last?

by Xaelifer