The flame burns low,

the shadows casting

eerie silhouettes on the walls.

Like staring at clouds,

like casting entrails,

I see the future in that haze,

I see the end of all our days.

Where once great testaments to

our love

held court,

only ashes from fires long since

extinguished.

Our hearts are barren halls in

lands that once bore more fruit than

any other.

But now, a studied indifference.

Now, the wind that carries with it

the howling of the pack,

the hunt for those who have lost

and are lost.

And like an old aristocrat

I sit in the ruins, ready to fall

on my sword.

Ready..

But not willing.