The Watcher
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Watcher ...
he wandered the mists
the high fells of Scottish countryside
wrapped in robes of their own wan light
aglow like the full of the moon
and aback a white Arabian stallion.
He commanded the brume and twilight shivers
and could cleave sunlight with his sword
turning noon to midnight in a swipe
filling the fells with dreamy fog
that, tales say, was the essence of enchantment
transforming the deepest darkness
to a glistening, pearly wonderland
where starlight suffused everything and everyone
and the grandest of dreams were realized
by breathing that glimmering haze
waves of joyous euphoria saturating your being
filling your soul with confidence and care
and drowning the spirit with happiness and love
until nothing mattered but that light ...
not even the realization that your life was over
and your soul was now happily ...
horridly ...
His.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Completely New 22, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2020
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