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Aug 2013 · 936
The Wanderer
Silver leaf fallen,
shimmering starlight
reflecting pools of streaked lightning
Where the wolves go to feed
the young
By running clear waters
Blued by time
In that place where the elms bleed
Darkness.

There we see in visions of mist
straight paths
narrow fields of Thermopolae
Sadness creeps
And the mist it lingers

Forgotten dreams
of memories you never had
settling
In the hallowed place
Where a freeman walks
The lonely path
In Darkness.
Creep Silence
of the stills

— The End —