Lost at the table

Such Whispers float in between the green of summer
Now doubt echoes daily each flesh a foot behind
life given on the ancient whim
beneath yew groves
this blood in powder flows
White the horses night
and now another quarter another quest 
today is held by yesterdays hand
tomorrow must shake
tomorrow must wait
for I am in love with the lost
my brow fringed as hell burns 
balence is lost