Dying Flight

Like butterflies with bronze and golden wings,
that flutter to the earth in dying flight,

Muse

I can only think in rhyme,
carried along by the rhythm,

Lilac

“I cut down my lilac today,”
she said as she glanced at his face.
He didn’t respond or betray
a change she could easily trace.

Stone Crown

The only way for her to reach this place,
was to climb the mountain;
a giant volcanic citadel, soaring towards the clouds.

Quiet Paradise

Beyond this place a region lies,
where gleaming marble mountains rise,
and rainbows curve their ribboned beams,