A Dark Passage

His fog grey tendrils creeping
on the mountain silent, sleeping.

Caught me in a dream like state,
the valley still my path to take.

Soon came the night, I built a fire,
flames like fingers reaching higher.

Their light to keep the fog at bay,
to shield me ‘till the break of day.

In the morning’s dew soaked cold,
I packed my bag and softly told

the fog, my life was mine own,
I am the wind I am the stone.

I am the hand that guides the knife,
and though he took my son and wife,

I’d find the key to tear him down
off of his throne and to the ground.

And no mercy shall be his fate,
I’ve seen it clear the cut I’ll make.

Not to the heart, nor tongue, nor eyes
though all these parts I do despise.

I’ll free his head from what’s below,
and put it on display to show,

the cross where pain and sorrow meet,
is where revenge does feel most sweet.