Xanthochroid The Leper's Prospect
Cold winds
Sting my coarse and blistered skin
Making my return
To a vain veil of time
Dead dreams
Shadows cry out desparately
Can you not remember
Your lost son's name?
Why should I persist?
Wrap me up in shrouds
And let me remain unseen
Trees that grow together
Like father and son
Stand in stark contrast
To my dreadful outcast soul
I wander, forlorn
Disfugured, so sore
Aching from the weight
I bore all those years
I am descending a black mountain
That crumbles beneath my feet
Still, I am looking back
Over barren hills
Devoid of light
I struggle to draw my breath.
Straining my sight
Just so I might catch
A glimpse of a long dead dream
