Riley Mistwood Poems

Upon her work table there is a box

wiith needles and thread and a rusty lock
...

Cold hands grab me from bellow

pulling, clawing, tearing at my soul.
...

Upon this mound of books I stand.

A Queen of the grandest land.
...

He roams the earth by moons pale light

A hunter in the dark of night
...

For my dearest Valentine

To you I give this heart of mine.
...

Here comes the tiny painter

the buckets in her hand.
...

The icy water is at my back,

there are Lillies in my hair.
...

Where your footsteps tread

poison spews from your mouth
...

Cauldron's boiling
Fire's burning
Smoke is slowly twisting, turning
A pinch of this, a dash of that
...