In yon dim'd hollow where thine embers glow,
A maiden sitteth, clad in hues of night,
Her sable wings doth stretch 'midst billow'd flow,
And 'gainst her spine, a riven streak doth smite.

Her gown of scarlet mists and twilight thread,
Like smoke that coils 'round ash'd pyre’s keep,
Beseemeth blood by wrath and fire fed,
That bleedeth into stormclouds dark and deep.

Oh harbinger of dusk, with form so fair,
Thine tresses o’er thy shoulders spill,
Yet thou art marred by rage and sorrow’s snare,
That rend thy back with crimson rill.

Ebon plume and lightning's fierce embrace,
Declare thee as a tempest's bride,
Yet in thy visage, solace finds no place,
For fury doth with thee abide.

Unshackled by the worldly bounds of men,
In shadowed majesty, thou dost arise,
A wraithly spirit, forsaken in thy ken,
'Twixt heaven's tears and Hades’ cries.


© poembyselly