Elegy: A poem or song composed especially as a lament for a deceased person.

Weep not for the ones Who pass in peace, Who reach the end of the journey, who have lived their lives.

Weep instead for the ones who were torn away too early Who weep for things lost unfairly Who are trapped in their own woes.

A tear and a prayer for those lost in their own sorrow... A prayer and a tear to soothe The pains of the damned.

Yarant Lyrantical, Dirge Singer of Jergal.

Cold sunshine writes our elegy in frost, Author of light a million snowflakes lost, All gone forever into swirling air, A dance of death that is no longer there.

Pure poetry becomes a stanza said, Classical white a message left unread, While we stand longing for a winter past, Hurt by a mood that was too fey to last.

West is a shadow wrapped around frail bones, Your hand in mine for eloquence atones. Touch is a brevity that needs no sound To turn the weather of the world around.

Songstress Frost.

I choose your frail bouquet of daffodils. A pale light validates the evening chill. Our shadows tremble on worn windowsills.

The wind is blowing the landscape away, Into bright oblongs of remembered day. I think eternal spring must have its way.

Safe in your eyes, another world I see, Beyond the margins of this elegy, Quatrains of frost created just for me.

Song of Frost-

Written by the Songstress of Auril.

Scribed here By Scrivener Lyrantical

Elegy of Survival

Still caught in the meshes of surviving The riving phantoms scratch at the base of what I've become. The strains and stretches of the stress marks Lead to a place I call nowhere, cos that's Where I reside, totally in the dark of an unlit room, The vibrant hemisphere absent from my murmourings As this, my elegy for a solitary, indites.

Written by Dirge Singer Quencil.

Scribed by Scrivener Lyracantil

Anonymous "Give me your trust," said the Gods. "On our shoulders, we support the heavens." "Trust us to know and to do what is best." "And we will take care fo the rest." But Trust is the color of the dark seed growing. Trust is the color of the Heart's blood flowing. Trust is the color of the soul's last breath. Trust is the color of death.

"Give me your trust," said the queen on her Throne, "For I must bear the burden all alone." "Trust me to lead and to judge and to rule, and no man will think you a fool." But trust is the sound of the grave-dog's bark. Trust is the sound of betrayel in the dark. Trust is the sound of the soul's last breath. Trust is the sound of death.

The Elegy of Trust.

Scribed by Scrivener Lyracantil.