Along that famous Alaskan slope,
A lad estranged cowers;sullen.
As winters king nips and crawls,
Deep and under our huddled lad
Wandered from the path given,
A heritage of their tribe,
From the gods of old,
To his elders .
He must acquit to gods,
He never believed in,
Or die in the clutches,
Of winters sovereign king.
He refuses to beg before gods,
Inhumane to their core.
Our lad must choose,
To harden his heart and soul to ice,
To join the throng of souls succumbed,
Within the heart of winter frost.
For naught to embrace the darkness, in all its fright,
Is to tend to the dying ember
Of unrequited love
That without vehement disdain.
أنت تقرأ
Song Of The Muses.
الشعرErato, ancient keeper of the golden arts . Whisper tales from eons lost. Remind us mortals of stories lost throughout the ages ,remembered only by you,the muses.
