The sky is a sea of ashes
An enigma of flame
Red orange light clashes
With the blackness in its frame

The air is brittle, its essence is dry
Like the smoke off a fire
Whose embers are about to die

Life is tragic, as death is grim
The finer points of morality, all paths lead to sin
Life is fire, hot and bright
Death is brighter, for darkness eats light

Soft as silver and just as bright,
the waters glowed briefly but brightly in the night
A lone child sat by the river,
body pressed still, barely suppressing a shiver.
Clothing too thin on a body too frail,
cold winds and winter tidings turned his skin ghastly pale.
The waters flew gently on a bird's hidden wing
- flying downstream as moonlight off the surface would sing.
Silent and unbidden save for the gentle flow of the spring,
The dark forest a mystery, foreshadowing a tomb.
The lily still, was the only thing left in bloom.
Amid a forest of bare trees and darkness, it stood a lone sentinel against the gloom
Delicately nestled in a thicket of thorns.
It stood alone against winter's arsenal of storms.