The FREY

An emphatic surrender is a brutal loss. It's a let down because the Frey was won, it's victory could have been a beautiful jazzy blossom more vibrant than foresight's.

But colorful breaths have been drawn out by Winter's Grim. Black hoods dance amongst the mist from which the hymns recanting monochromatic memories are sung.

For every hour time echoes to us, Dusk takes residence. For every stroke of the hand silver flakes flutter until they rest upon their eternally undisturbed throne.

And yet the seat is vacant, it's chill can only replace the tempered warmth of command for so long. The cold is just a memory of heat forgotten.

A glimmer is brightest amongst the dark. It may stand alone but it's resilience can break apart a shadows vacuum.

For every twinkle there's a crown that heralds an unforgiving but merciful kingdom.

It's fair to believe surrender is honorable just because Love fought at the helm but Love undeniably finds its way back home, on the Frey.