Young yet ancient;

Shimmering bright

To cover

The shadows.

The savage Claws.

Beauty to hide

The Scars.

Always remembering...

Forgetting neither

The Fear

Nor

The Pain.

Nor

The Stars,

Cutting brightly

Through that

Dungeon of

Darkness.

How a moth’s scale shimmers

In the light of the setting sun.

How beautifully, carefully a spider’s web is spun.

How a moth’s scale shimmers.

As the stream giggles and glimmers

And, from the earth, springs to run.

How a moth’s scale shimmers

In the light of the setting sun.

Ice.

Flame.

Acid.

Heat.

Water.

Stone.

Moth's wingbeat.

Wind.

Dust.

Snow.

Frost.

Hate.

Fear.

Friends lost.

Bloom.

Life.

Green.

Scale.

Crystal.

Pearl.

Misty gale.

Crystals shine,

Cold and Blue,

Deep in a forest of

Oak and Yew.

Under Stars

And under Moon;

With cry of owl and

Ancient Rune.

Beneath the leaves

Of a lone elm,

There lies a gate to the

Faeries' Realm.

It burns.

Not a single blow;

But it hurts.

No one to be hurt;

No one to cause pain.

Why does it hurt so much?

Those agony-ridden, festering wounds

That infect the being so fully

Until one forgets life without

The pain.

Rose streaks across gold

The rising sun gazes from behind

The azule mountains.

Night lurks in

The shortened shadows.

A bright dawn.

A beautiful day.

Another chance...

A new life.

Butterflies;

The wings of the delicate blossom;

The diernal dreams of the silent owl;

The colors of joys and sorrows unseen;

The souls of the innocent, unheard by the 

Deafened populace.