Gwrach y Rhibyn

She calls out his name,

tender terror, soft and sweet.

She wants to save him,

her hand dangling from the dark,

reaching into the realms that death doesn’t dare,

an impossibly placed omen,

owing nothing to anybody,

but holding them by their collars,

by their souls,

with no gratitude,

shielding their eyes from the certain death that awaits them if she lets go.

She calls out his name,

hoping that he will hear her earnest cry,

hoping he will allow himself to live.

Her hopes are lost in the mists of her mind.

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