Of sleepless meadows,
and cold, seething blades,
the last rose blossoms,
in the desert's cruel shade.

Lachrymose falls
to shadow's black crimson,
while its thorns cry out,
"Why won't they listen?"

The rose screams and shouts,
crying sweetly for its heart,
but vines choke it gleefully,
dooming it from the start.

Gun barrels and swords,
with dirt spewing everywhere,
and sadistic corpses fall
without a single care.

The sounds of their loved ones
still beckon them home.
But that love means nothing,
when you know you'll die alone.

Prayers amongst the cold
ash-stricken
skies.

I saw you there
weaving pretty lies
along edges of night,
with all your hellish plights,
as you lose sight,
of your innocent light.

Prayers amongst the cold
eve of unquiet
dead.

I saw you there,
screaming your past regrets,
crying out what needed to be said,
while following the blood you've bled,
as you dye your childhood red.

Prayers amongst the cold
words of forgotten
tales.

I saw you there,
with your abandoned sails,
your dreams and everything you've failed,
neglecting the praises you've hailed,
while traveling the icy gales.

Prayers amongst the cold,
for the weeping stories
untold.

Shadows come dancing,
and twilight draws near.
But your tiny candle smiles,
and scares away your fears.
And as I wait, with the moonlight
ever gleaming,
I can't help but ask,
"What are you dreaming?"

Are you a man,
traveling to the ends of the earth?
Or are you a boy,
sleeping delicately by the hearth?

Are you a knight,
following the morning lark?
Or are you a sailor,
preparing to embark?

Are you a wizard,
muttering your wild spells?
Or are you a warrior,
seeking out violence to quell?

Are you a gardener,
caressing sweet leaves of thyme?
Or are you a troubadour,
weaving together blissful rhymes?

Are you a king,
childishly ruling over your courts?
Or are you a fool,
commanding the jokes the aristocrats afford?

And yet, I can only ask,
of the thoughts in your mind,
as I continue with my task,
of watching over time.