An Empty Throne - Part 8 of 9
An empty trace – part 8
The shaman held the vial near
it trickled slow into the glass
A shimmering this welcomed tear
as precious moments came to pass
He shook it slow with tempered stroke,
the gem, his staff, once more did glare
Again the incantation spoke,
an emerald glow was everywhere
“Return this beauty to her form
of daisy rush and willow feel
To cleanse the soul of poisoned storm
and sorrows cast as to reveal”
The sun now but an empty trace,
a fainter amber light is found
As nightfall rushes to the place
above horizon’s silent ground
Another drop, his fingertips,
then quickly to her mouth did lean
To place upon the tender lips
of this, the kingdom’s precious queen
He feared this might have come too late
as others in the room agreed
Yet not with words, but quiet wait
their silence floats on hoped for deed
This staff, its light begins to dim,
the healer breathes in heavy sighs
“I fear, I fear, we have lost him,
indeed our king this hour dies”
When then a flickered lash does flow,
another comes as if to thrive
As now her eyes they open slow,
once more, their queen has come alive
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016
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