A Rider Pale

I walked beneath a weeping sky
Where shadows stretched too long
A figure stood with hollow eyes
And hummed a southern gothic song

He spoke my name like drifting ash
Like something almost gone
“Come sit,” he said, “and rest a while,
Your grieving won’t be long.”

I asked him of that silent dark
Of all those endings yet to be
He smiled thin as winter’s breadth
And whispered back to me

“When every tear has left your eyes
And sorrow’s well runs dry
There will be nothing left to mourn
No reason left to cry.”

The wind grew still, the world withdrew
His words hung cold and bare
For grief had been the thread I held
Now nothing lingered there

I turned to leave and I found no path
No echo, light, nor breath
Just endless calm where pain had been
And that, he said, was death