The wind howls from the north.
A cold blizzard has struck;
Leaving the man astray;
But the poet couldn't stop.

A horseman approaches...
Fate? Death? Destiny?
None of those;
It was reality.

The reality of a memory never forgotten.
The reality of a touch never betrayed.
The reality of a gaze upon ones glass eyes never amiss.
The reality if it being what it is.

The winter sparrow tells an Autumn tale of lust
Medusa engraved the moment on Smokey Quartz.
The witch added the forbidden lovers spice to the brew.
And the horsemen rode off into the night with all he could take.

Yet, the poet lusts for more.
His muse, she too wants that.
But what is may never be...
Or could they both be wrong?

Only time can tell
What only the moon knows.
Until the winds howl again.
Unless they never stop.