The ghost of an insignia

Up in the cold mountains,
Resided an ancient whisper,
It echoed in solitude and—
Screamed in looming peace.

It would cling to a heart and—
Run with their heads,
Whispering in screams,
About the sunset, yonder.

What was this ancient peep?
My string of thoughts pressed,
Couldn't find a resolve in return,
Off I set on a quest for a query.

Trampled over thorns of feathers,
Lowly comfort to my horses,
Gathering my tiny dimes,
I tramp on with an eye closed.

Three days and three sunsets later,
I stand before the tall mountains,
I gawk in awe and stare and shriek,
It was indeed a treat—
A treat for undeserving eyes.

A brilliant light arose from the peaks,
Piercing my daft,
drunk eyes,
Altering the spirit in my soul,
Striking the air inside my lungs.

It infected my loud head,
Screaming familiar melodies,
Whispering songs I'd never hear,
Breaching my thoughts in twisting turns.

Imprinting a ghost of an insignia,
Snapping my heart's strings and
Flogging my crease of love,
Speaking in a tempo high—

That all beautiful things,
Come with the worst curse.
Your life was beautiful,
But your strings had snapped.

Your kin ripped it out,
Hoping you would hate,
But you poured crescending love,
While bathing in their flames.

I was put to sleep in the pastures,
Beneath the dark hills,
My quiet head put to rest,
Caressed by thunders of many voices.