I feel like an open book
not just some words on paper,
with still some story to tell
trying to mean something greater.

Dragons, witches, monarchs' sons
all of them forcing me to run
never allowing acceptance nor grief
no people involved, only politics

With things like this I must say
all that I had was yours to take
and my life too I would gift you
if only death had not coloured you blue

Early as the sun when it shines first
a beam of light from your smile could burst
and the warmth of it would haunt me for days
as did your words when you begged me, "stay"

And I would hold you tight
through day and night
if only it might
lock us still forever in time

But, golden hair shines no more
and blue eyes are known through ancient lore,
but as the old man who walks the shore
your presence is still intact in my core

What's the point of telling stories
If no-one is around to hear them?

What's the point of being alive
If everyone else is dead?