The Moor

DATE: Jun 10, 2011   PHOTOGRAPHER: Alissa

“The sigh of summer upon my return
Fifteen alike since I was here
Bathed in deep fog, blurring my trail
Snuffing the first morning rays

Weary from what might have been ages
Still calm with my mind at peace
Would I prosper or fall, drain the past
The lapse of the moment took it's turn

I was foul and tainted, devoid of faith
Wearing my death-mask at birth
The hands of God, decrepit and thin
Cold caress and then nothing
I was taken away from my plight
A treason bestowed to the crowd
Branded a jonah with fevered blood
Ungodly freak, defiler

She is waterdrops over the pyre
A thistle in my hands
Stained and torn, aged and brown
Virtous shell with kindred innocense”