Word Weaver: Scottish Lore
On nights like this
the old women
speak
of the maid
that lost her soul
As the winds
howl through the valley
and the fog
begins to roll
She
wanders
through the heather
Till
reaching the craggy peek
Hiding
from the anger
his mark
left on her cheek
Once laughter
filled her heart
and
echoed thought the glen
Her eyes
blue sapphires
shined
Now
the fire
has died within
Her innocence
and
faith
The weavers words unwove
Stripping her bare
of all
till
all that was left
was her soul
That tiny spark of life
a burning jewel
to behold
Was
all the weaver fancied
for his had long grown cold
*****
Beware
the
intoxication
Of words
Like
honey
dripping
from the tongue
Whispering sensual
enchantments
Enticing
the imagination
to run
Golden hues of wonder
The Weavers
words
dance
before your eyes
As the Weaver
hunts
for souls
to keep his
fire alive
'Anything Goes' challenge
for Renee
By seelie
© 2013 seelie
(All rights reserved)
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