There Are Portals
Meandering Pathways to Enchanted Lands Poesy
A long told fable, earth-woven, with a hitch in the plot, An old and stony pathway, winding, that time forgot.
Rusty iron gates, gothique, bleeding in the rain, The echoes from the realms beyond whisper harrowed pain.
The lock that seals the way is engraved with fey script, The riddle of the key that only few can decrypt.
A figure of the night, hooded with crimson cloak, The lock falls to ground from just the words that they spoke.
A magic with the potency of earthโs first dawn, A spirating, rushing wind, a breath first drawn.
The gates, set free, bid the wanderer step forth, The sound of morning songbirds give their blessing to the course.
The path through clearing mist into enchanted lands proceeding, Here, always, does the longing sigh come from the dreamer in their reading.
In that very sigh is found the secret of what lie in wait, For that hooded figure of the night in their first step through the gate.
