Fevered Mind

A poem by Sydney Stone. I do not own the image.

***

Once ‘pon dim and misted moor,

Where spirits tread in times of yore,

I spied a silhouette stood by the stones,

Referenced only in most hushed tones,

In taprooms dim with pipesmoke haze,

That they were not meant for mortal’s gaze,

From times of chants and sacrifice flame,

From days before the christenfolk had made them tame,

A woman I thought the figure to be,

Though spectral, I felt no urge to flee,

For her gaze was not for me,

But rather out towards yonder sea,

As though she waited for a sign,

Of the return of something lost to time,

Taken by storm, or pirate’s stroke,

Perhaps bound in chains of slaver’s yoke,

So sad did she appear to me,

Like a mournful-toned soliloquy,

That it almost broke my heart to be,

So close to that which could never be free.