SPLINTERS

I call on the boards upon which
I walk to give me a forest of
Company these long ebony evenings
The winds that do maketh the
Forest dance shall also bless my
Will and solitude, whispers will
Continue to linger, a language
Alien unto itself, understanding it
Though as i surely do, as Heaven
Opens its unoiled doors, our spirits
Cannot be dampened any more
Than they are drowned in my weeping
Blood. These worn down timbers
Feel the force of no shock, their
Flattened existence long ago
Trampled into the ground, alas
Mornsong do fast approach, the
Voices of the night quickly disperse
With nowt to look back upon
And with little to reproach.