Dnext

Wasted, mountain moor,
where hard night holds, fast,
shadows, that confuse my crossing paths
into a maze, I cannot navigate.

No torchlight, guiding
homeward, takes me on,
through darkness, thick, which I never sought,
whilst frigid gales howl secrets of my soul.

Fierce, screams this stormwind,
to provoke my fear
and kill the flames ice could never quench
when melting in a warmth I long for, now.

I see no refuge,
save a rocky mass -
a granite skull, beckoning, that grins
for me to freeze, again, in Khayyam's hell.

I won't walk that way,
but bear, still, harsh teeth
of bronze, which I may wield as I will,
against this power of bloodless, tempting cold.

Let me tend my fire -
if needs be, alone,
and for one span more, 'til life revolves,
to give, at last, our glory in the sun.