A Ballad for Death

A compilation of the first 500 poems I ever wrote.
I write in my free time accross different styles and themes, sometimes there are reasons to what I write and sometimes there are not, but I always try to follow my inspiration.


275. The dirt path

A man, a child and a dog

Came one day out of the fog,

The child was sick, the man tired

And the lone dog had been hired

To protect along the path

The three of them from her wrath;

They had gone against the will

Of the Red Witch and the Still,

They would not bow to the time

When had come the thirteenth chime,

A curse had been thrown upon

Them: to wander the Nightland

Until came a bright new dawn,

A path that would never end.

The child however cried not

Even a single small tear

For he had so long forgot

What it was to feel the fear,

The man walked on despite wear

The small burden he could bear

For however strong the tide

He knew the dog by his side.

I know not how long they went

All three of them tired and spent

Nor even if they have yet

Reached their goal, journey’s end met;

But sometimes during the night

When upon me is the sight

Of this small path made of dirt

Whence they came and then went back

In the deadest of night black,

I think back to faces hurt,

Limbs so weak, minds exhausted,

And wish to have them hosted…

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