A Draugr’s Sorrow

He slowly wakes
To stretch his bones
His long-dry heart
Pumps naught but stones

Emerged from walls
Cold floor and feet
To make his rounds
All bittersweet

“There’s peace in here,”
He sings and cries
Consoling his
Dry, weary eyes

A flick of wrist
And flame appears
A memory
An atmosphere

A cave wind blows
Disturbing rest
A muttering,
His brothers’ nest

Attendant fire
The candles light
To drive away
The ceaseless night

He walks about
His footsteps ring
His dark routine
An echoing

“What good are names,”
A musing stirs
“To those more aged
Than pine and fir?”

A master once
He worshipped then
A priest of wings
A god of men

He wonders now,
“Where have they gone?
I miss those days
Of halcyon”

His brothers sleep
Alcove and urn
He keeps the fire
And candles burn

When all is light
The path he sees
Will lead his rest
From tired knees

Back to the wall
He will return
Til next he wakes
A bleak pattern

And pondering
All that is lost,
The lonely ghost
Returns to frost