Southern Lie Or Quest
To the west, or is it south they see.
Nay not, the west is the journey forward.
Southern views, latent with melody,
Journey now to the south and onward,
Eyes of red described in fright by day.
Eyes of red seen by one, at dawns break.
One that muses about disheartened display.
Disguised by mind tricks upon a wake,
She looked into the eyes of red, no form.
Not awakened by any sound or storm,
Shall this entity develop from only mind?
Dragged unto the sweltering still gaze,
What dimensions will continue to unbind.
Shall the horror take hold as it plays?
My tale may be real or just a lie.
You will decide what you believe.
Southward she still gazes as to comply,
Or is it in hopes of a tempered reprieve.
Upon the next eve, another rendition appeared.
Movement this time gazing softly to see,
Closely watching, feeling nothing - nothing feared.
Darkness has not complied, yet to any degree.
Misty light lies solemnly, playing these lies.
Performing a destiny of beyond our despair,
She sits soberly, gazing without any cries.
I stand waiting, guarding the way; I stare.
What illusion glares, or is it becoming real.
To her and me out of complexity or faith,
What shall be the answer of this time surreal?
Shall it be that a prophecy has begun its wrath?
They say the Moth man brings about casualties.
Would we be seeing sudden future fatalities?
Our eyes and mind play tricks upon what we see.
You decide if what we saw was evil or just a guest.
That our minds so overtaken by mere history.
Or are we all to be set upon, by a mysterious quest.
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