The Castle In the Gloom
On Devon’s moors I found myself
walking to clear my head,
to shake off loss for just a bit,
and see a color other than red,
feel something other than dead.
A fog surrounded me that day,
but something stood within the gray.
It rose up high behind the mist,
a shadow only half-seen,
robust and solid in its build,
with hints of mossy green,
Like an aged, medieval dream…
How could this be? And yet I knew,
there stood a castle in the gloom.
Never had there been one before
in this quiet, desolate place.
I knew not where it came from,
if was even of time and space,
and yet closer to it I paced,
Then stopped cold when I heard a cry,
I knew that voice! My Lorelei!
Frozen at the sound, I gasped,
what I heard could not be.
My dearest was dead two months now,
cancer had taken her from me,
but the soft cries made me believe.
I sprinted hard, stumbling much,
my darling wife I longed to touch…
But as I neared, the mist shifted,
the castle faded, then was gone.
On my right I saw it once again,
far afield, the distance long,
but for her I would press on.
The castle moved as if on feet,
forward and back, ever so fleet.
Yet still I heard her yearning call,
and pressed the changing track.
Along the way a weight lifted,
lightness came to my back,
as if some burden now I lacked.
But I paid no heed to pain or strife,
I only cared to find my wife.
It mattered not, the other folks,
who walked out on the moor.
They clustered around a supine form,
but to their thoughts I was inured,
for Lorelei I must endure.
Lighter still came each long step,
but I haven’t reached the castle yet…
Yes, I see it! Now I see her,
a faint shape on the castle wall.
The cry keeps coming to my ear,
I cannot waiver, flag, or fall,
even if I have to crawl,
I’m coming, dear, I’ll be there soon,
I will reach that castle in the gloom.
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