In the heart of the frosty sky

Through the forest dim, I wandered deep,
Where wildcats of shadows prowl,
November’s breath, in the woodland’s sweep,
Wove gray through the empty cowl.
No bird took wing, no deer did sing,
Just the hush of the dampened air,
And the brittle stance of the ancient oaks
Bore witness to my despair.
The rattling ferns bowed their frosty heads,
As I stumbled a path unknown,
A hooded figure, where the fog still spreads,
And the winds through the hollows groan.
A lost man climbing through misted climbs,
His soul a fleeting ray,
While the silent forest its secrets kept
Through the shrouded, sunless day.
The brooding pines, with their frozen spines,
Sighed low as I pressed on through,
While the ghosts of deer, forever astray,
Drew near in the November dew.
“Turn back,” they pled, yet I forged ahead,
For the path was carved as my own,
And the fog’s embrace, like a dragon’s breath,
Bid me nevermore to roam.
So here I dwell, in the forest’s fold,
Where the truth shall never rise,
In the November fog, where the lost grow cold,
And the light forever dies.
No stars shall gleam on this endless stream,
Of shadows both dark and sly,
For my soul was bound, and my madness crowned
In the heart of the frosty sky.