I see a storm-play of blue,
and violet, orange and
gold--as eventide slides
into twilight's gray.
I close my helmet
to hide white scars
from the eyes of stars
that mock my immortality

I am Kodewor
an ancient shade
keeping tireless station
upon a shadow-riven keep.
Fleshless, I haunt
an ivy-wrapped tower
since the hour of death,
I've known no sleep.

My spectral hands grip
a sword of moonlight
A two-edged illusion
of wind-tossed debris.
Autumns later, unshiven,
I await the harvest
my soul still stained I'm
damned forever to bleed.

My face, a laughing skull,
cannot lose its humor
as time parades her seasons
quickly past my perch.
Duty endures the marching
of bordom, the stinging banter
of faithless winds about
their frantic search.

Some have peace and
some have regret.
Somehave hope in the
shroud of night--
Though I have naught
but desolation,
I shall guard it well
with honor bright.