GOD SAVE ME

The white horse rode closer to dawn where the Time Watcher sealed a vigil. He stood at the final gate. And in the emptiness, whispered the names of those who once surrendered not to call them back, but to let them pass. As here at last, lay the crossing of the Lungta.

My head is spinning, My thoughts sway towards an unfinished past, And at my door, a stammering voice calls, Under the weight of a mistletoe

Poem: N0. 05, 29th February 2024 The tree, usually stoic in nature, allowed itself to be crafted through the exaltation of the wind...