At_Last

A gantry to a future bet Of purpose, inclination set. Avaranches, Mortain and on, Knowing not of what would come. On this bridge I held her hand Beholding secrets of my life For her worth I took his stand As though she were my wife. She was my own bridge to cross. I made the cross and charged head on, Unafraid of options lost, Doubtful any more would come. Bleating fete of mayhem bounding Trodden hearts of souls who brought them Tolls of rounds well spent resounding Echoes to the strings of autumn. From Avranche her tresses shook me To the strains. I felt no pain As her sorrow lifted, through me. We kissed and I moved on again. The Kluge of monsters sent to stop us Slain in kind as fury propped us. From taken grounds we disinterred The songs of life that once were heard.

Devils deaf to music's voices

Favor ill in nature's choices.

The bleak autumnal changing winds

Played out on sobbing violins.

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