Only the Moon Remembers

The mists gleam with an iridescent blue.
But they pull away from me as I walk
along cobblestone paths, footsteps oppressed.

The forest takes on a spectral facade.

A sound from within the foliage,
interrupts my silent, cold amble.
But goes ignored, like the breath of a sleeper.

Resuming my stroll through the moonlit woods,
I find myself gazing up at the sky,
as I contemplate epochs long past.

Unheard, a call from the grave, echoes behind.

A grey cloaked figure, waiting in the haze,
with eyes of burning coal, that look through me.
Open to an age, submersed in forever night.