Stephen Rule

The slender warming fingers of fading light,
Caressing the earth like a sweet lover’s face.
The golden sun settles behind the old hills,
Giving forth its’ final light for the day.
...

The carrion swoop across my eyes,
Their black-feathered wings colour the skies.
They hawk and feed on rotten prey,
My mind does wander, yet my body must stay.
...

Note: This is really lame

The watching eye,
Do not cry,
...

The road may seem long and too far to walk,
There may even be things which hinder your advance.
You may even reach what's thought of as the end,
Only to find that the path goes ever on.
...

Do you hear the river calling?
The voice from in the leaves.
Windy whistling through the hills,
An echo on the leaves.
...

I lie here alone with this pain in my chest,
Where has the enemy gone?
I see only the bodies of men now dead,
Was I left to die here alone?
...

Thou may say things to greater folk,
And in thine eyes it all be joke.
But if thine words bring naught but mourn,
Then harken now and heed my warn.
...