I came back from the bridge bathed in tears, Ugly with the torments over all these years. Verses fluttered on my lips like a solitary dove, Only to drown the broken bones into a fresh, dangerous love. Wallowing in the aura of his wintry gaze, Never knew what magic put my soul to such a daze. Does he read me? For I'm afraid, Of the age old prophecies bards have made. Crippled in the succour of his treacherous spell, There, tolls my doomsday bell.
the rantings of solitude