Silver

Hair, the silver of the stars,
Eyes, the gold of the sun.
His voice the song of Angels.
He walks the halls of my dreams.
A haze, like mist in an empty field,
Envelopes him like a mountain in a fog.
He appears as if by magic.

Who is this mysterious being?
The night his friend,
The moon his beacon in the dark.
If I'm caught watching,
Even in a dream,
Only the tomb will I find-

With a single strand
Of silver hair in my hand.
And he shall vanish
With a blood red smile on his lips
Back into the mist
From where he came.

c. 1998 BACK

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