Midnight wraiths shared my campfire,
Waiting for my eyes to close, hoping (I assumed) that I might soon expire.
But I said, “No! I'm a healthy fellow. Pray, share with me your stories.
Mine, I'll share till dawn's sweet stare, if you’ll but do me kind.”
The wraiths replied with epic rhymes, as their kind is wont to do.
And I listened well to their great spells, and then I wove my own.
I spoke of trails and mountain tops and crooks and creags,
And creeks and trees and moss and leaves and pleasant things.
The wraiths hissed, “Yes,” much impressed and bade, “please do continue!”
So on I spoke about Wild Folk, and Little People I call friends,
Until the darkest shade, who had yet to sing,
Stepped forth into the flames.
His voice was rasp, a dry keep fast, and his story I now shall share,
For his was a sad sweet lament, echoing yet fallow.
He longed for love, forlorn and lost, a heart that once had been,
But now it beat within the dark, where shadows alone defend.
He spoke of days when he was whole, with skin and bone and breath,
Of a maiden fair with obsidian hair, who loved him still in death.
But jealous hands had twisted fate conspiring to rend them apart,
And now he roams midnight’s veil, a wraith with a hollow heart.
Our fire flared and flickered, ‘cross faces long turned to shade,
And as he spoke, still more wraiths drew near, engrossed and unafraid.
For his raspy words held common truths, a sorrow they all might share,
The pain of love that time forgot, a grief they never dared.
He told of nights ‘neath living stars, where once he held her near,
Of whispered vows and gentle sighs that now were lost to fear.
And as our fire’s light burned low, his voice began to fade,
A ghostly echo of the past, a love he could not save.
The wraiths ‘round our embers sighed, a chorus soft and low,
And in their eyes, I saw their tears that long had ceased to flow.
For they too knew the bitter ache of love that time had torn,
And in the darkest hours of our night, they mourned what they had worn.
I felt their pain, their longing deep, and in my heart, I swore,
I’d carry forth their tales of woe, to let their voices soar.
So in early dawn’s first gentle light, I bade them all goodbye,
And as the wraiths slipped to mist, I felt their silent cries.
But in their place, a peace remained, a gift of memories past,
And as I walked the morning’s path, I knew their stories would always last.
For every step upon the trail, each whisper in the trees,
Would carry forth the wraiths’ lament, upon each autumn’s breeze.
And so I wander still today, ‘neath Brother Sun and Mother Moon,
With tales of wraiths and love’s lament woven upon life's bitter loom.
For in the heart of every night, where shadows softly tread,
There lies the wraiths’ sweet rhymes and songs, and all the love they lived.
