The tongue so quick

I weep by the river, waiting for the twilight to take her bow.

No end, no beginning - I am as I was before and not one step further.

The heart aflutter as the stream carries me to the gates.

No rewards at the temple to declare or discover, just another mirror to gaze into.

With every journey another image, and with every image a riddle in continued play.

The tongue so quick it wraps around my neck, and there my noose, and my last breath.

No king in the night when her shadows fade into the woods, leaving a trail of sadness.

What promises the maiden makes when she hungers for more.

Unaware of such collateral damage, she plays her violin carelessly.