On Dark Shadow Poem by Jessel Jane Tevar Toring

Pain drags her soul to darkness none recalls.
To soul who loved her not, her wrath befalls;
clouds stoop low, the moon tiptoes
to hear her prayer breathed in moor.
Death doth wait the evening bells;
her wind-chimes haul o'er the dreary fields.
Where love is waned, her pain is named,
she walks o'er the dew of her hope maimed.
A moment brief, her angels win-
on envy's mist arose a primrose sin.
Spells spinning on the breeze, she cast,
on veils of violet her fury hides.
To paradise where none resides...
down, down she goes.