Between the Trees

On the clearest of the winter nights

With the stars as bright as fireflies

The peace too cold and light


And in the clarity I stand

On the edge of forests

Made from the oldest birches

The storm raging between the wooden pillars

With snow from silver dust


With a cloak of white

Covering my tattered skin and shackled wrists

With hollow eyes I crave


I hear him calling

Begging me to come

A creature between the birches

A ghostly echo

More ghoulish than the kind that I belong


I want to reach out to him

Join it him the storm

To turn my cloak to red


Maybe I should do it

But my hands are bound

The End

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