The Cliff Path

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Here I stand

atop a narrow path of stone

without fissure, crack, or chip.

On my left, an unforgiving fall

into sea green and grim.

On my right, a mirror image

of this two-sided cliff.


Long is the walk to a prison castle.

Its stone in constant shadow.

Ominous is the air above its walls.


My love, by rock and metal bar encaged.

Chains upon flesh, bar across door.

Guarded by monsters living and dead.

The cursed, the condemned, the evil reborn.


Come has the wind's wrath

and the sea's spray

mixed into bitter brew

battering against my body.


One look, into the final fall,

one look, upon them with sunken eyes,

discolored oozing flesh,

and stone-piercing claws,

climbing higher and nearer

up the cliffside.


Pelting rain from dismal clouds.

Unnatural lightning flashes

in vermilion and putrid orange,

illuminating dreadful, haggard faces

staring down from the angry sky.


Dread of what is still to come.

Dread of failure and of these eyes

looking never again

on my beloved wife.

Dread beaten back,

to be taken up

by someone

lacking my unwavering heart.


Into storm, into fury.

Forward, Forward

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