The Leper's Prospect

Xanthochroid

Cold winds 
Sting my coarse and blistered skin 
Making my return 
To a vain veil of time 

Dead dreams 
Shadows cry out desparately 
Can you not remember 
Your lost son's name? 

Why should I persist? 
Wrap me up in shrouds 
And let me remain unseen 

Trees that grow together 
Like father and son 
Stand in stark contrast 
To my dreadful outcast soul 

I wander, forlorn 
Disfugured, so sore 
Aching from the weight 
I bore all those years 

I am descending a black mountain 
That crumbles beneath my feet 
Still, I am looking back 

Over barren hills 
Devoid of light 
I struggle to draw my breath. 

Straining my sight 
Just so I might catch 
A glimpse of a long dead dream