To the Dark Mountains - of love, treachery

Of a lover's hair
a tale long worn
sold silences, of words
like breaking rust,
moulded shreds of frost,
becoming, unbecoming lovers
dying in truths
of guilts cut into icy walls
slow moving slumber
takes over
treachery, slow, vast
of grace, divine priests
of red threads, holy water drops
benign compass of a bloodied sacrifice

Of tales long worn
in times crossing into history
into future
of a meeting point
where you and I hold
dust, clay, and gold.
Of roving inspired songs
bells, chimes, and shells
screeching, bellowing howls
from your underworld and mine
a knifed, shadowy night
belying love
hennaed truths
and wines
we meet
souls inside, breathing slow

A guttural sound questions
a lover's demise
of a tale long worn
white
faked, veiled truths
denied
in promises new and old.
Of which does not say
of what it does not know
in memory and in time
of two, or three or four
years, and months fold
a flower of hopes cocooned in a
lover's hair
somewhere whispers die.