by Niall Jordan20 Feb 2014
There sits she upon her table round,
Strong and resolute without a sound,
Beckon’d am I, while her gaze stirs something,
What tales of times to come,
Are known herein and yet confound,
Giant spectres ingrained in the minds of men.
A silent moment rages for eternity,
She turns the cards one by one,
Revealing unsung truths and bitter lies,
Lost in the cards are echoes long since past,
Of deep human sights cast into the dark night sky,
Odes from aeons past, yet boundless in the sea of black.
Left to right they are drawn forth,Each new turn draws me in,
And sets my mind ablaze,
And heart to race against the shadows deep,
The dim murmer of the crowd amongst the stars,
Fades as I return to life, seek to live,
Amongst the otherworldly nomore.