Short Stories and What Not

Forgotten

imagesCANGSGYL

Wails of wind pass through the dead fields,

battles which cursed the lands.

Men, bled life and soul,

none remember except for the bones.

White specks which litter the uneven pastures.

Death still creeps there,

as the Ravens watch.

The mist rising, extending ghostly fingers.

Heroic deeds, forgotten,

in the passage of life.

The only ones who still measure its time,

are the watchful eyes of the Raven.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s