And left at dawn in guilt and pain,
Continue reading The Innominate in Thirteens: Part 2, The Shaman’s Sentries
Of all that had been heard,
Patrick’s ousting of the wyverns,
And the enfields’ grounds disturbed.
Oh that, that morn, that quiet fore storm,
Continue reading The Innominate in Thirteens: Part 1, The Story Holder
And the slugabeds fast asleep.
But a hero stood, at the edge of a wood,
Reflecting on the murky keep.
Grounds still frozen
Continue reading The unlocking
Creeks swollen full
I’m feeling pulled
Snow’s pretty weight,
Continue reading Winter’s consciousness
Can pull at consciousness.
As sylphs await,
The end of somnolence.
Nature’s wind chimes are superior!
It ruins the clinking sound of glass.
Heard on those days that the cold comes,
Or when the bitter comes to pass.
There’s a range to hear it composed,
You might sense it out on edge.
Moved by those depths that disclosed,
The thousand three hundred feet alleged.
And in all that obscure coldness,
That is driven by mistrusts,
Is a hymn of fragments singing,
“The shards of water and the gusts”
Continue reading Nature’s Chimes
Let percolate, sift and refine…
Continue reading A Spell for the Distiller
A soul’s growth comes from what snares its mind.
Those hearts they ache or else they envy,
The happy few or Those miserable many.
When stared at behemoth most your life,
Continue reading The Magic of Sibley
And trudged on the trails in your turn.
In summer you’d freeze if stood on the heights.
And in winter, just reflection might burn.
Patiently the Devil stood on the threshold.
Continue reading Before my Destruction
Restling I heard the Brute knock at nightfall.
I know better, of course I knew better.
Dragging my feet as I moved down the hall.
Earning the shock as I reached the doorway.
Midcourse the mid-day the sky went midnight,
Continue reading Costs of devising the dead
With force a display, loud cracks it ignites.
Strange shapes, on the rise, that are splashed by the light.
The dawning dismay when out come the wights.
Once every year there is an eventide,
Continue reading A telling of the Hymn of August
As we tiptoe or sprint towards decline.
The whilom of wonder begins to wane,
When Notos decides to retire the reign.