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by Nevada Kerr

Welkin, last of the great immortals
First of the hundred winds
Shines on the wings of devils
Carves out the mountain range
Drowning in monsoon rains

In a forest of bone
Lies a dead boy alone
Pointing to a trail
That will never lead home

Seraph, cold under trees
Burning with grief
Wanders a ghost
Lost in a world of mortals

He calls to the first of the hundred winds
Praying for forgiveness
For a thousand sins
Looking for the path
Leading back to the road he followed

Carrier of souls
Down long, lonesome roads
Welkin, the first light of boys immortal
Opens a holy portal
Into the monsoon rains
Into the mountain range
And Seraph rides the winds
On devil wings
Overlooking a world of mortals

Written by © Nevada Kerr
June 12, 2003.

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Created: July 2003 © Paul Kinder Last Updated: 16/7/03