About Me
His hand reached out, pale fingers
cold and lifeless in their wake.
He called to me, like one might call
a lover. A siren's song that
leads to nothing but oblivion.Looking upon me, warm eyes from that pale
face--a chilling scene. Black hood and robes hide
Him from the world, and you see not Him, but what
He means to you
Freedom.He beckoned me, and like a moth caught
in a summer's flame, I flew into His arms.
But for only a second, a moment's reprieve
from the bitter cold, could I remain i his embrace."You are not mine,"
He said to me, His voice an
enthralling melody of its own.
"Not yet, not now, not 'till the time has
come, and you are ready to let go."He held me there, arms of a lover, of a friend.
In a place that knew no time, and was
nor His, nor mine, but was our own.Until I heard them calling, and knew
that I must go. And He let go, His eyes filled
with both gfief and joy at His loss, for He knew
that one day, I would be his.
