Through
the mists of forests & ancient time,
Resonating
in corridors of my long lost mind,
I hear the
haunting tones of warm liquid gold,
Echoing
notes of ancient tales sung & so told.
Angelic
old voices, caressing as silken soft moths,
Haunting
in graves of Bards & cloisters of Goths,
From the habits
of monks & Druid´s hood echoes,
Resound in
heaven & beneath stones of old geckoes.
Incantations
of ravens & bats add their own choirs,
Where Shamans
& tribes dance rings around fires,
Those musical
whispers from times ancient & old,
Banishing from
souls, the lonely & uninvited dark cold.
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