Of The Lady Winterheart

She moves away, her spirit cursed by laws
that fill her mind with frost. None know the cause
of why she is so sad,
Her castle filled with many fine hewed statues.
Hark! Before you go friends. Listen awhile.

She watches keen at sunrise in the morning.
She never fails to mourn it's loss at dusk.
She knows no love save this,
For love melts icy hearts.
Do you hear? Soldier, Poet, Duellist?

She reads her books, the prattle whittles time
to one short bladed threat. Age heeds her
waste, and ranging poles of Youth
rot in the snow,
That ever falls like indecision's touch -
but here, but there, unknowing where to go.

What use has she for handsome princes now?
For every man who craved her hand and got
Felt out the Midas frozentouch, and died,
Becoming but one more statue, besot,
While beauty, numbed in guilt, yet glides away.

The seasons change but
Heart ice never thaws.
Procrastinator
Freezing shut locked doors.
Be warned; one touch,
and you are doomed to die.
So Soldier, Poet, Duellist;
Stand thee by.