Waking The Minstrel



In the kettle of scrutiny, the clouds fly.
Like a dance of the Montague’s and the Capulet’s
Grey and distant, they clung to my mind.
Silver droplets, collect on my lips.
Dew from the letters, that formed in your kiss.
Goodbye they read, across your face
A child of virtue, I taught you disgrace

So out of place, you’re a minstrel of sorts
Chanting your lyrics of wisdom and worth
You travel the roads, of the meek and absurd.
But I fell into you.

Weary and tainted, you drank from my cup
I painted your shadow, I followed your echo
I danced through the gallows
Of waiting and shame.
When I whispered your name,
You never came.
I fell into you,
But now I can see, you were just a perception
I, was the dream.


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