The Death of a Fae

 

Lifting up the rock 

  Crawling under it so

Curling up in a fetal of cold

Letting the earth and her worms

  Soften my delicate skin. 

Letting the damp, rich soil 

  Nestle and coddle my soul. 

I chose to return to death...

  The brimstone too hot to behold...

I weakened against, 

  One fiercer than I 

A Relic tiny, yet magic bold. 

  Dampened away...

    Nothing but the blue of suns long set. 

Nothing but the bitting wet..

  And an ember quickly shading out. 

Feet bare, of soil slick, 

  Sticking of twigs and grasses

Crawling under the last of chances...

  The deathly hollow, 

Of another abode. 

  Crawling under it so. 

Hair engraving into the roots. 

Happy at last. 

To finally put 

  The Fire out....