And yes they were the best of times ,
of love and tears and
memory .
Where dreamt I slept black
granite slab deep ,
cold and sans regret .
☆
Night-birds sang above my
head ,
dead lovers called my
name .
While in my lonely dreaming ,
perfect love became the grave .
☆
So despised without good
cause ,
I determined to sleep on .
The rider on white stallion
showed me poetry and
song .
☆
But when last came time to
leave that place ,
and journey beyond that
vale ,
I prayed for Him to keep me
fast ,
I prayed I would not fail .
☆
Attila said where he had
passed ,
no grass would ever grow .
It grew instead upon his grave
where children seeds
had sown .
☆
Now forging pathways to this
world ,
sacred numbers were my guides .
Moon rise over still water ,
where time holds back the
tide .