Poem V

Baneful is this path I tread
Though others be near
Through a veil they behold
A wistful eidolon
A shell dead and gone

Ever winding, scarcely trodden
This is treacherous tale
Thistles always be near
A vacant light in the distance
A hopeless disposition in trance

The trees are writhing, unfree
The depths are rising
They cry out in horror
A rueful voice always be near
A fresh kill it longs to shear

Fog thick to blot out the sun
Thorns cut brought by the wind
Thrones smile a deceiving grin
A desolate end it is clear
A left hand death be near