Poems Don't Have to Rhyme

Asra

A young god sculpted from Numidian marble

golden hued, bronzed, kissed by sun and air

White hair like starlight, one who travels by night.

The son and heir of magicians imprisoned in the clocktower

Where time holds no meaning and death cannot reach.

Friend to the fallen, to the forest, the desert

A river of paradise runs through his mind, pooling at his heart

Pulling at his soul,

Give the devil his due.

There's a lover in the story

But the story's still the same.