Flight of the Soloist

He came from darkness;
Some realm of forgotten time—
I saw his face emerge
From the fog in front of mine.
His eyes looked back at me
As flames grew within;
While adoration snuck up slowly—
Washing me clean with sin.

I thought he only existed in dreams;
Those clouds of thought at night,
I breathed in my fantasy—
And fell into his delight.

Beneath the mire, he crept
And through shadows he walked
While in Autumn’s leaves, he slept.
The rust in which he did dwell
Tainted his pallid sleeves—
His eyes faded from blue to gray;
Day fell to black from greens
And willow’s no longer swayed

Black and dead as Death was he:
A single brown flower petal
That soils a single bouquet
And ruptures the levees in the purest metal—
The iron that flows within me.

Walking through his shadows
I held his hand tightly—
I followed Death as he held me close
And loved me secretly.
I looked into his eyes
As I followed his enlightening gift
And I pretended I could fly.