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Here is another spooky tale.
The deceptive moon shone down
With silver and peaceful grace
What hid behind that gentle mask
Was bent on my disgrace
Privy to a dreadful scheme
That any good man would rue
To take away my sanity
For being the one who knew
It was sore and a nighttime ruse
That dark and dreadful thought
Jealous I spun a masters dodge
In that the bloody deed I wrought
He took for his, her sweet rubied kiss
He wrongly gained what I deemed mine
For patience would wait a better man
For loving her was my own design
Beneath this swarthy sky and silver moon
Wroth, came I, upon him bright upon his way
He smiled and footled me a fair good night
Oh, for such arrogance I made him pay
Then I went to her, awaiting the dire news
So close was I, her breath upon my cheek
I with guile bid her comfort for her loss
She fair, was mine within that very week
But madness crept in with the silver moon
In every shadow there revealed his face
Bloody accusation with a whispered word
Call to heaven for the weight of my disgrace
Then one night the closet door did swing ajar
From it’s depths the reaper called a funereal tune
On my wedding night I fell down stair to stair
I died pointing blame upon the deceptive moon
www.klstoryteller.com
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Why is doing what you love the hardest thing to do? Is it because failing what you thought defined you would be too devastating a thing from which to recover? If so, we stay where mere accident has left us.
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