FATE BY DESIGN
The shadow grows, though deathly still,
In candlelight, weary of will...
On cavern walls, cold as a tomb,
Through mists of magick's sweet perfume.
An open book, an ageless lore.
Sightless eyes look beyond the fore,
To glean clearly from well wrought line
A glimpse of fate, if by design.
Wretched and frail, a shaking hand
Page by page avails Time's demand.
Hour by hour, withering away,
Day becomes night, night becomes day.
A soul long dead, searching for life.
A dream well fed, a loving wife.
Eyes once beheld, a day long past.
Now lifelong search for Time's recast.
A silver robe negligently
Would speak of forgone luxury.
Royal emblem about the breast,
A long forgotten regal crest.
The family scourge, the Prince of Pain,
Seeking a dream left in the rain.
King next in line, honor pristine,
Forwent to find who would be queen.
In dimmened light sunken eyes tear.
Perhaps hope now gives way to fear.
Upon his neck the laughing breath
Of ‘er anticipating Death.
Closing the book in mental sigh,
A pinched candle would seem goodbye.
Palm placed to book, the torn soul cries,
To life mistook, closes his eyes.
In pouring rain, walking alone,
A peasant's life, hers to atone...
A carriage close, she steps aside.
The splash of mud does nil to pride.
But the horses stop with a shout.
And there a stately man steps out.
Silver attire sets heart astir,
Why would this young Prince stop for her?
For all behind was dark and drear,
And all before was night and fear.
How many hours of night or day
In those suspended pangs I lay,
I could not tell; I scarcely knew
If this were human breath I drew.
[This message has been edited by Michael (edited 05-20-2000).]