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Krishna Ahir



Krishna Ahir


The Lost Moors

The Lost Moors

2 mins

The mist hovers above the moors,

Reaching out like ancient skeletal fingers,

Gasping for something to hold onto.

A howl pierces the night,

A memory of a Sherlock Holmes story,

A shiver runs through scared,

A tiny fear, takes hold.

Searching through the night for a light,

A light to guide you home,

A touch to make you warm,

Arms to hold you close.

The rain came crashing down the wind,

Lets out a howl.

Running, finding shelter from the storm,

Arms wrapped round, rubbing to keep warm.

A fire started, a heat that seems a forever to start,

The flame flickers to stay from the blowing wind,

Hunger sets in, a hope the heat will bring;

Warmth to find sleep,

To shrug off the night, the storm.

A memory of a long ago time,

When the world was not so cold,

The darkness wraps around like a blanket,

The black traps your soul, your spark.

She awaits by the lighted shore,

Through the black of the night,

Scrambling, stumbling to find the path,

That will lead you to her arms.

How many lost lonely nights,

As the mist blankets this heart,

The cold, the damp feeling in your bones,

As you search to find a comfort,

In a sleepless sleep.

Tomorrow or a tomorrow that has come,

The present the past blend into one,

A flicker of hope in an endless abyss,

There shines a light to lead you home.

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