The Song I Left in the Valley

 

And

when the sunrise

comes again, I'll walk 

away like a last refrain. And when

the dew melts from the leaves,  I'll hide

my heart from this den of thieves. They breathe 

the air of a soft-spoken traitor, planning with you just

to stab your back later. Sticks and stones may break

my bones, but words brought the king down from his

throne. Flattery flew from his head to his heart through the magic 

of songs that live in the dark. Notes were sung, for the words

laced inside held the power to determine the fate of his pride.

Queer thieving song with strange, tip-toeing ways was almost

the trap that convinced me to stray. With the gentlest of hands

you could make me stand tall, but with the same clenched

fists you could cause my own fall.  I'll cross the border

before it is noon, for can't you always taste impending

doom? The hills are high, but once away and

far off, I'll look back towards my folly

 and undoubtedly

scoff. The

rankness

of air

that once

hosted

a song

is dripp-

ing with

treachery

frigid

and long.

The sun

has setted

just a

short while ago;

yet the whole of me

yearns for what's left far below.

 

-- Emaleigh Cait