Death's Horizon

Sleeping among the midnight grass,
Sleek ebony reflecting the living moon,
Beneath the inky azure sky,
It lay-
Smooth, indifferent to the night,
Awaiting it's call.
The feel of Death's spindly hands,
Unsubtle power imbibing its
Thick, hot veins,
Aware of the bones and dust;
Of the pearly echoes at peace.

In the foolish man's fingers,
Tossed thrice for good measure
And lifted from the depths,
She arrives-
Chained to the wretched stone,
Mournful and grey;
Her soul crying out for rest,
Never truly resurrected.


*These are my end notes- I have absolutely enjoyed all the various side stories in Harry Potter, and the Resurrection Stone was one such story that really grabbed me. So this poem is a little tribute to it. :) *