《The Emperor's Dream》


 Preface: Poetry and Purpose

    Since I was a teen, writing stories has been the overarching goal of my life. Whether I''m ever successful at it is a question that stopped being relevant to me a while ago. I just knew that whatever I ended up doing with my life, it was all just to keep the lights on to continue telling stories.


    Were they good stories? I''m not sure. But they were stories that I had to tell. Over the past few years, I self-published two books in my home country, and I was even able to get them in local bookstores.


    I got the sales reports, and I am, by the most basic metric, a professional writer.


    I''ve written more than two books, of course, and I intend to write many more before my time is done. It''s what I believe to be my purpose, the only thing I mean to do for the rest of my life.


    So, what does any of that have to do with the following collection?


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    I''m not really a poet. But sometimes I get these flashes of inspiration, far too short and contained to turn into a larger story. If the stories I want to tell are like bonfires, then the poems are sparks, brief flashes flickering from the flames.


    Over the course of the last year or so, I''ve written dozens of poems, each inspired by the stories I found myself working on. Maybe they were excerpts that I found did not fit in the story. Maybe they were epigraphs. Sometimes they simply manifested, apropos of nothing, and I found myself either jotting it down in a notebook, or even just saving it as a message draft in my phone to be extrapolated upon later.


    There''s no particular theme, or rhyme or reason to where some of them came from, but over time, I had compiled a fair few of them.


    The problem was in how I was saving them. I had no compilation, no collection, no set order, basically saved haphazardly in virtually every folder on my PC. It was... messy. So the reason for this is to get all the poems I''ve written in one place, in an anthology of sorts, after hunting down each one in every errant location I''ve saved them to...


    I intend to compile them as a collection of the poems I''ve written in 2023 and 2024.


    Most of these poems are free-verse; very few are written with rhyme and meter in mind. I know that some people might not consider them poems at all; that''s fair. Like I said, I''m not really a poet. That said, I do hope someone enjoys them, somewhere out in the wide world.

 1) Fimbulvetr

    This godless


    place bears


    the scars


    of old


    annihilations,


    as though


    the world


    manifested


    the ancient silence


    of a faithless heart.


    I dream now of the shadow


    and the mist,


    the gentle genocides of


    an icy season,


    and the ash


    of the old world falling


    from the sky.


    Snow blankets the earth


    in all directions:


    blinding white


    crystal


    nightmares


    of cold,


    burying the red


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    the grey of


    the burned


    and the forgotten.


    I remember it still,


    the last howl


    of the moon-swallowing wolf,


    when the gods descended


    and the serpent rose


    from the ocean¡¯s


    depths,


    and the half-faced one


    dreamed no more of death.


    I remember it still,


    the god-bridge shattering ,


    bleeding colours


    across the night sky.


    We''ll wait here,


    you and I,


    forgetting the clamour of distant


    steel, forgetting the screams


    of immortals brought low


    beyond the totality


    of us,


    when they fell


    in fire


    and venom


    and blood.


    We''ll wait here,


    you and I,


    till the snows are past,


    living on the morning dew,


    and the promise


    that winter will end.

 2) Withered Glory

    The softly woven script


    of lost lives


    are etched with care on the


    barrow door,


    Old alphabets twisted


    to become illegible


    in this age of remembrance


    A man sits in the grey world here


    dreaming of golden sunrises


    and soft autumns,


    whispering of the days


    of withered dreams,


    gilded moments yielded by sunlight


    threading through mist


    with hidden needles.


    The sprawl of hope lies unmoving,


    drowning in the deep


    without a sound.


    The prayer ends,


    and the gods vanish


    into song and memory.


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    A soft sigh is heard


    and a shadow turns away


    from us, slipping into the fog.


    We weep and writhe


    in the shattered shadows


    of fallen saviours and


    wayward heroes


    and we dream of a salvation


    that will never come.


    Tombstones are raised


    to forgotten glories.


    While bodies are exhumed


    and contorted into a monument


    of shame and regret:


    to mock our unanswered faith


    with the decayed flesh of our


    fathers.


    We build idols


    with our bones and blood,


    creating false gods


    to guide our prayers


    to the silent heavens,


    to the restless deep.


    They left us here with nothing


    but fading sunsets and tears ¨C


    crimson-dyed clouds


    streaking across the heavens,


    like the wounds of a blade,


    or the embers of the fire


    that burned the sky.


    Look up and you''ll see them,


    drifting on the wind:


    the bloodstained ashes of bygone days.

 3) One Last Prayer

    Swords and spears lie on the field


    in homage to the fallen.


    A mournful cry is heard


    in the rain-softened air,


    a wail that is joined


    by a weeping chorus;


    The last choir has taken


    the stage,


    to sing a lament for humanity.


    They rise like frail stalks


    that tremble and falter


    in their despair,


    singing wilting, wordless songs


    before drifting like falling leaves,


    carried by rogue winds


    to the endless sea,


    forever lost


    in the storm and the surge.


    Eyes turn to the heavens


    to see the maddening tempest,


    the relentless thunder,


    the flash of lightning,


    and beyond it,


    a veil burned to gaze


    at the stars unimpeded,


    a world killed with smoke and ash,


    and we weep beneath


    a pall of heat and failed hopes


    We who remain


    offer a benediction


    to the dreams


    of silent and nameless destroyers


    slumbering in


    dust-grey cocoons


    that shivered,


    throbbing and bulging,


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.in the shifting shadow


    of the black ocean,


    and in their sleep


    they whisper dark nothings


    to the withering world.


    We remember yearning


    for more than this,


    pressed against


    this jagged wall of dreams


    on which we cut our probing fingers,


    searching for glittering


    hope, embedded in


    in the cold and the grey.


    But long ago,


    we watched our castles


    fall, mighty fortresses


    sinking beneath the waves,


    while a nameless city -


    a Bastion of Hope and Ideals


    vanished beyond a dream¡¯s horizon,


    never to appear again.


    Now we think of days gone by,


    of an age, far removed from war:


    The Never-Time,


    filled with what-ifs


    and almost-theres,


    with might-have-beens


    and never-weres.


    The world ends


    and we remain,


    breathing smoke and


    choking on the ashes


    of our cremated brothers and sisters.


    The cocooned ones have begun to stir,


    awakened by our call,


    by our pleas


    to kill those who remain,


    seeking silence, seeking stillness,


    and an end to desperation.


    They''ve heard our prayer.


    We fall prone


    at the edge of the rising tide


    a pitiful thousand,


    all that remains,


    and we await their coming,


    hoping to be trampled underfoot,


    to have our blood and bones


    and memories


    beaten into the earth


    by the march of a godless legion.

 4) Sunrise on the Nameless Sea

    They breathed in the still light


    of a quiet dawn


    emerging from


    the storm-tossed seas


    beneath the retreating darkness,


    Their wounds a telling


    and retelling of victories


    and deep and bitter loss.


    Yesterday is a lie,


    the past a deceiver,


    twisted by memories,


    then stretched out


    into a grey fog,


    betraying truth


    with the advance of time.


    But something gleamed hard


    in those eyes -


    those gnawed and harrowed arches,


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    that vanishing, flame-eaten span,


    the pain that did not vanish


    with the night.


    They know this sea,


    the dying place,


    the verge of new beginnings


    the phoenix shore,


    the resurrection strand,


    The eastern sea


    where yesterday dies


    and tomorrow is born.


    The past was slain


    with the sunrise,


    blood red


    spilling across the sky


    ere it is scorched


    by the golden dawn.


    They linger awhile,


    looking out over the


    restless waves,


    the ebb and flow of fate,


    seeing, perhaps, their sins


    being burned away


    by the rising sun.


    They will come back here


    one day,


    beneath another dawn,


    to fall in silence


    unknown,


    and perhaps unmourned,


    yet glorious,


    to be purified


    by morning''s light


    once more,


    and die in peace


    on that quiet shore


    of an ocean


    they refused to name

 5) Duality

    There is change, there will be change.


    I am you, while you are me.


    We will die, we will have died,


    when you are me, and I am you.


    Let me breathe and take control,


    I''ll break your heart, then make it whole.


    Let me die, and set me free


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    The world of dreams, the world we know,


    shatter the past and make it so.


    Forget the future, the world of sin


    pick up your sword and let''s begin.


    Tear it in two, let go of fate,


    the world of hope, the world of hate.


    Two are one, and one is two,


    You are me, and I am you.

 6) Scrawl

    I dwelt by the ocean, once


    Etching histories along the bone-white shore


    tracing with lines in the sand


    the chronicles of our revolution,


    Comforted by the rhythm


    and the roar of the tide.


    I remember her face


    So pale and still, never again to smile


    when the moon¡¯s light fell,


    then stopped


    cold as silver upon the shore.


    There it flickered, trembling


    on a fragile thread of remembrance


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.waiting for my hand to pluck


    from the endless nothingness


    little pieces of


    an unchanging stillness,


    as time distorts the past,


    borne away by the surge.


    The thought of her begins to fade


    her voice,


    the feel of her hand in mine,


    the taste of her lips,


    even the dreams of her


    are vanishing


    into the dark.


    In defiance,


    I wrote her name in the sand,


    then watched


    as the waves


    washed my memories away.

 7) Dream Is Her Name

    Dream is her name,


    Bright and true,


    She wanders


    On fateless currents,


    A gleam of hope


    Within her eyes,


    Her sunken kingdom


    Behind her.


    The unknown future


    Lies in the heart to


    Seek out new depths


    And fixate hope


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    With burning gaze;


    her purpose is


    To drift beyond horizons


    To conquer the domains


    Of unknown waters,


    To be crowned with coral


    And pearls,


    The Conqueror


    Of every sea.


    She follows knowledge


    As night follows


    The setting sun,


    Drawn to dream


    Of new dawns,


    And realms unfathomed


    And unknown.


    She wearies of the calm;


    She smiles in storms:


    Fair Dream''s fain spirit,


    Ne''er sailed on gentle seas.


    A blazing star her lodestone:


    Her heart, her compass


    Forever.

 8) "No Narrow Frith"

    We stand on the prows of ships,


    gazing across the unknown


    to uncharted horizons


    where nameless dreams


    pulse and flare


    like the breathing of stars.


    We look behind


    at the pearl-white sands


    like the bones of history


    cleared of memories by the wind


    that gusts along the icy shore.


    It''s time to leave this world behind.


    Where the ship is moored


    no shadow is cast;


    darkness is given


    to the broken thrones


    of men¡¯s desires.


    In this bleak and bridled land


    they¡¯ve hammered their ideals


    on the anvils of hope


    twisted by violence,


    resounding with the clash


    of steel on steel,


    and temper red hot passions


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    to collide again and again


    on these troubled seas


    where the fated are guided


    across currents filled


    with the drowned and the lost.


    I will meet your eye


    on this dead sea,


    blessed by the


    blood of the virtuous,


    paying no heed


    to the similarity


    of our scars,


    standing on the waves


    into which we''ve cast


    the ashes of the fallen.


    The cries are lost


    in the winds and the waves,


    and we are gathered together


    to gape in the drowning air,


    then to sink into oblivion.


    When I was a child,


    I sent a toy boat across


    the restless waves.


    I watched it vanish


    without a trace,


    I felt happy


    and empty,


    wanting more from


    life and hope.


    Silent now,


    sinking into the darkness,


    I dream of days


    now unspoken.


    How blasphemous to consider


    that there was a time


    when peace was


    enough to sate our


    feeble hearts.

 9) Antediluvian

    A gentle rain begins to fall,.


    They are the soft tears of a distant


    and reticent deity, weeping


    for a world that has abandoned us.


    I cease my prayers


    at the lip of dawn;


    where sorrows flicker and fade


    like stars in the morning air,


    while the moon stares down


    with blank expression


    upon my pleading face,


    now muted by the


    imagined replies of a


    stern and unforgiving god.


    She watches me still,


    the distant love,


    the ideal that I strove for


    that broke me,


    time and time again.


    Still I kneel before her,


    giving thanks


    for the glory of strange dawns


    in distant worlds,


    cocooned in magic.


    The rain beats down harder


    on my bowed neck-


    the gentlest of reprimands


    for my silent blasphemies,


    the sin of resentful exhaustion,


    the desire for an end,


    an obliteration that is absolute.


    But if you will not give me strength,


    then I will take it,


    from the bellies of behemoths


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.and the throats of leviathans,


    that have washed upon the shores


    of this forgotten place.


    Yet I dare not approach


    those dark shapes on the strand ¨C


    something in the rain


    has quickened them to life again,


    and they stir and shiver


    in the turbulent air,


    crimson eyes seeking prey


    even as they are drawn back


    by some macabre act of Heaven


    from the brink


    of their own destruction,


    while rain falls,


    beaten down by the relentless


    whips of the wind.


    A horn moans somewhere,


    unseen on this grey-clad dawn,


    and love and hate drum as one


    from my heart in arrhythmic beats,


    calling to mind a black moment


    when I cast something


    into a deep and wild Abyss,


    while the winds of a fierce tempest


    created a silence that thrummed


    with its own emptiness


    within my chest.


    My hands, bloodied by


    my own passions


    upon the bones of mine enemies


    now rise like guided spirits


    to Heaven, covered now by


    the milling shrouds


    of deceptions, cast


    like a pall over all the world,


    and the crimson melds


    with the cleansing spirit of the downfall.


    This fire-honed edge gathers


    no rust in the deluge


    of these relentless thoughts,


    but emerges sharp enough


    to cut through fate.


    I have laid my sword at your feet


    in a silent pledge of my fealty


    to your immortal cause,


    having bloodied it


    upon the throat


    of the unbidden memories


    of ice and loneliness.


    And still the rain


    falls


    and


    falls


    and


    falls...

 10) Ashes

    I stand in the wasteland


    of a once-mighty city,


    burned to cinders


    by the memory


    of a devil''s birth.


    I stand beneath a scorched sky


    hearing the whispers


    of the lost,


    those who died in pain


    calling to me


    to remember them.


    But they don''t remember me.


    I was here with them,


    all those years ago,


    at the heart of the blaze.


    Shadows stand in


    silent ceremony


    around a memory


    bent by perception


    and perspective.


    A child, wreathed in shadows,


    smoke and flame,


    eyes ablaze as it screams


    so loud it shatters the city


    and burns the sky,


    A child, devil-crowned


    chosen by fate


    to end our world.


    With that scream,


    its flesh blackens and burns


    and cracks,


    spewing lava and smoke,


    scarring its newborn body,


    even as it bloats into immensity.


    Its eyes are fire now


    as it towers above us


    beneath an amber sky.


    Its screams become the inferno


    that sets


    the world ablaze.


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    A halo of jagged obsidian


    spins around its head as


    it looms over us all,


    arms spread wide


    as the flames leap ever higher,


    consuming everything.


    First came the light.


    Then, the shadow.


    I am not what I was before.


    I am a pillar of ash,


    a memory of a man


    lost in fire and time,


    like all these other ghosts.


    Footsteps echo around me,


    But when I look back,


    I see nothing


    but another echo of myself,


    smiling, laughing,


    trapped in that moment


    when the agony burned


    so intense it became euphoric,


    when the heat drove us mad


    before it killed us.


    Behind him is a woman,


    who drapes her arms about his shoulders.


    They stare at me


    with black pits


    where the eyes should be,


    weeping ashes


    as they remember what I remember,


    grief cutting through the madness


    I stare up at the sky,


    at the distant pale light


    of dreams blazing


    in the endless darkness.


    Ashes on my chest


    are remnants of where


    my heart once burned


    with hope


    Only silence remains,


    regret and grief,


    gathering,


    then moldering


    into quiet apathy.


    But in the emptiness,


    before I crumble away,


    I dreamed of a time


    when we were at peace


    beneath the silent regard


    of distant stars.


    One day,


    they will find us:


    another people


    in another time.


    They will sift their fingers


    through us


    and wonder what became of us,


    the people


    of the city of ash.

 11) The Spider

    She comes


    walking on bridges


    of starlight,


    a silent whisperer


    in the darkness,


    murmuring elegies


    to her fallen prey.


    I whisper now


    of the spider,


    the world-drinker


    the ocean-swallower


    the sky-eater


    who gently weaves


    gossamer epics


    to ensnare


    the fragile


    flickering senses.


    fluttering


    now till all


    is lost,


    the weaver of nightmares


    the spinner of shadows.


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    There you are,


    your silence


    screeching


    as you spin


    about


    on the hangman¡¯s noose


    Hope¡¯s amber


    lights


    have faded


    from your eyes,


    hollow chambers


    filled with ragged


    and tired


    screams ¨C


    Spaces where


    we remember


    where hope


    was lost.


    She brings the dark,


    the shadows


    of a moonless night.


    Tonight she comes for us


    the dread-hunter,


    the Nightbringer.


    Stop your weeping, child,


    and stay close.


    We shall curse


    the Darkness


    Together.

 12) Child of Dust

    I went in search of peace


    in the cast down temples


    of old religions, finding in their


    quiescent


    cobweb-corridor-deaths,


    echoes of


    my own stillness.


    I nodded to the wind¡¯s words


    and the tale told


    of promises forgotten in


    half-light dawns,


    kneeling down to drink


    from blood-troughs


    filled by wars fought in the name


    of ideals.


    I went in search of meaning,


    finding slivers of myself


    between the ash-worms, creeping


    in and out of bony shells,


    the wreck of a world


    forsaken by faith.


    They dragged me out of the ruins,


    holding up a broken idol -


    covered in filth and blood-


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.and told me that I blasphemed,


    and they beat me to the ground.


    I turned from their stones and


    fled to the horizon, seeking a place


    where a rogue might find his place.


    And I saw reflected in mirrors


    and raindrops,


    shards of something I could not know.


    I went in search of truth


    and found it, bleeding words


    of hatred from a wish for love.


    I found truth unsheathed,


    loosed from a scabbard


    of sorrow and regret,


    wishing for death,


    theirs and mine.


    And the steel of their madness


    drove into me


    again and again


    the agony


    of an abandoned world


    gouged out my eyes


    tore off my ears


    and ripped out my tongue


    Until I shattered,


    wandering into the abyss


    blind, deaf and dumb,


    set free from


    the world of hatred,


    to fade into


    a hollow nothing.

 13) Ephemera

    There are these moments


    in the empty stillness


    when all that you are


    seems unreal,


    and frail,


    as like to vanish


    as the morning mist.


    Have I carved a piece of you


    from the loneliness


    of my heart?


    Or do you live and breathe,


    as I see, a vision of glory,


    separate from the hollows


    in my soul?


    The fading reflection


    of hope


    smiles at me


    out of the corner of my eye


    but when I turn,


    it''s already gone.


    This is my nightmare:


    joy and beauty,


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    I have painted


    a picture of a castle


    in the sky that you can see


    when winter is here,


    watched over by the light


    of distant stars.


    Perhaps you''ll come back


    if you see this:


    a palace of starlight,


    fading into the mist.


    Stand with me


    beneath the glow of those


    far-flung, fading dreams,


    and gaze in wonder


    at true ephemera


    breathing in the rays of


    a cold radiance,


    the light of distant suns


    that may already be dead.


    So slip your hand into mine


    that we may be assured


    of something real


    as we stand beneath


    the fading sky


    when midnight comes.

 14) The Final Sunset

    I dreamed of the last day


    and saw cloth-bound remembrances


    floating on the rising tide,


    sent adrift by the shadows


    standing on the shore:


    eidolons sending their wishes


    upon the currents to the myth


    of a promised land,


    their prayers forgotten


    by the quiet, empty sky.


    There¡¯s the sound of shattering glass,


    and a sudden intake of breath.


    Someone has stirred from sleep:


    A hollow man,


    too weak to dream,


    standing beneath a hollow sun,


    too weak to grant


    the comfort of warmth.


    I beheld now the fraying


    of a thousand things,


    the hollow man


    in a slow march,


    walking along the razor¡¯s edge,


    pacing through the disorder of our time,


    remembering a world


    the gods abandoned,


    remembering that he is


    the last of his kind,


    born in solitude,


    enduring loneliness


    at the end of all things.


    He looks up


    and sees the truth,


    and then begins to weep:


    a corpse is hanging in the sky,


    the hollow husk of hope embodied,


    exsanguinated,


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    crucified by the silken threads


    of venomous beasts,


    who tread lightly in the evening air.


    They are all that remains in this place,


    scavengers feeding


    on the dead and the damned,


    and they shall gorge themselves


    for centuries yet,


    as shadows moving


    unseen in the quiet,


    in the cold and the dark.


    The hollow man


    beheld the silent ones,


    and looked into the earth,


    packed with the dead


    and the gone,


    knowing that he would join them soon,


    and he stands


    deaf and dumb,


    weeping in a world covered


    in ash and mist


    He turned to the things


    floating on the sea,


    watching them swell,


    bloated with grief,


    with the regret of


    the World-That-Was,


    that can never be again.


    Then, at last,


    weighed down by


    tears of loss,


    they sank into the silence,


    swallowed whole


    by the darkness.


    Death comes,


    and a night that will not end.


    As the sky is stained red


    with the final sunset,


    the hollow man sat


    in the dying world


    and waited.

 15) Careless Craftsman

    I etch into the tree


    a tally of the passing days


    crossing off wasted moments


    with scarred and bloody fingers ,


    carving a testament against


    the worthlessness


    of the waking moments


    passing one by one into the fog


    of yesterday


    A dream is hammered into splinters


    an inspiration torn apart.


    Cannibalized to serve


    a new purpose.


    And every thought,


    every passion


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    and put together again


    in a lopsided way.


    I falter for a moment, looking


    upon my work,


    at my bloody hands,


    and nothing to show


    for my effort but pain.


    Sometimes I dream


    of a woman I''ve never met,


    and her embrace after


    another dream is torn aprt


    She feels like a melody,


    a song I once knew,


    but have since forgotten,


    She sings a little


    softer when I hold her.


    Have I failed her?


    Or do I only fail


    when I stop?


    I''m no artist,


    just a careless craftsman,


    And I wonder


    if this is enough.


    If it will ever be enough.

 16) The Muse and the Exile

    She dances in front


    of the old church


    a ruined steeple,


    overtaken by


    the creeping forest,


    half drowned by the rains.


    There¡¯s an old name


    and a dying wish


    beating in a chamber of bone,


    in a prison of flesh and sinew.


    Someone spoke there,


    and something listened


    until it didn¡¯t


    anymore.


    My hopes


    are nothing but


    little red words,


    writhing and contorting


    like serpents devouring


    each other


    in a frenzy


    of survival and death.


    I look on in horror,


    but she sings


    a song of comfort,


    bringing peace to


    a heart


    soaked in exile.


    ''One dream,'' she says


    ''Just one. That''s all you need.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.Live on and dream.


    Start now.


    Begin again.


    And if you fail,''


    she said,


    ''weep, but try again.''


    With every ending


    a new beginning.


    A journey


    with a thousand starts


    but no end


    until we admit


    that we can go


    no further.


    Live and die


    with these beginnings


    these endings,


    and endure


    the ''almost-theres''


    and the ''never-weres.''


    Shatter the heart


    and rebuild it


    with wishes


    and hopes,


    a prayer for the future,


    as we wander


    so far from what we were


    to what we''re meant to be.


    Together we sing


    a song of exile


    of bitter defeats,


    of quiet determination,


    to live,


    to dream.


    This is where we begin:


    Embrace the emptiness


    the silence


    the blank page


    the wordless song,


    the muse whispering


    sweet nothings


    of inspiration.


    She feels like a melody,


    ever gentler


    when I hold her.


    Our music is sad,


    but needed.

 17: Lord of the Withering

    His abyss-forged smile


    is the red


    of heated steel,


    dipped into summer''s heart.


    Withered leaves


    are offered as


    an empty tribute


    to the memory


    of his perennial silence.


    Gold and red his crown,


    a thin circlet


    resting on his brow,


    while silver eyes flash


    on an aged face,


    surveying the green world


    slowly dying


    beneath his gaze.


    We dream of the truth,


    diving upwards into an


    immutable silence,


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.imagined to be


    golden and unbroken,


    hoping we too


    could become


    the smallest piece


    of the silent immortal


    infinities.


    Grasp but lightly


    the spirit of Autumn,


    the truth of the gate,


    the road to the end,


    and fall


    to your knees before the


    passage of time.


    ''Bow down'' said he,


    ''I am the Autumn Lord,


    I am the fall of life,


    the beginning of all things


    ending.''


    And at his words


    the winds wailed,


    the trees shrunk


    and cast off their gowns,


    and the rains began to fall.


    He smiles to see his work


    and settles upon his throne


    of decaying wood and damp soil,


    watching in silence


    as the world brings their tribute:


    The Withering Season has begun.

 18) Hollows (cobwebs)

    Grey and tangled


    they swing


    the dried-out husks


    Of careless shadows


    now swaying in the breeze.


    The soft skittering


    sound of their bodies


    brushing each other


    as they shiver


    and shake


    on a wayward breeze


    is the only murmur


    that remains


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.of their empty ruin,


    while she dreams


    and waits


    in the center of the tangle,


    ready with yet another noose.


    She watches her victims,


    drifting on the wind,


    swinging, swinging


    until they are cut free


    from the gallows of silk,


    hanging broken and bloodless,


    a desiccated, hollow promise


    of what tomorrow


    might have been.

 19: The Siege Perilous

    They¡¯ve divided the chaos with


    blood and steel


    imagining a promised land


    that spans the breadth


    of mighty Logres,


    the Kingdom of Angels,


    and we take one more breath


    before we reach our peak,


    gathered as we are,


    in this solemn hall.


    We choose to hear nothing


    of the dreaded creak of aged bones


    the slip and snap of worn-out muscles,


    lives shuddering in unison


    in the somber silence.


    He stands there, proud,


    his knights mighty,


    glorious, noble and true.


    Arthur glances at me,


    the question


    lingering unspoken


    in this hallowed chamber.


    Mighty are his knights


    and true,


    Yet none so true


    as to take this seat.


    Siege Perilous


    they named me,


    for none may take me


    save for the best knight


    in all the world.


    Should the unworthy


    attempt it, they will burn,


    and thus I cast confusion


    on their faith.


    For if they are the best


    and the truest of all,


    why then,


    is no one worthy?


    As ever, whenever they look at me


    they look at him,


    brave Lancelot,


    mighty of arm


    and strong of heart,


    yet he never looks at me.


    I am his shame,


    the acknowledgement


    that he could be greater,


    but for


    the chiding rattle of chains


    that holds his heart captive.


    For best must also be


    the pure of spirit,


    and his soul


    is shackled yet with


    a thousand betrayals:


    the weakness of a covetous love,


    a lust born from


    souls weakened with time.


    The dusk of life


    settles on them,


    brown, gold and black


    yielding to grey,


    yet they feel it,


    when they look at me,


    that their story


    is not yet complete.


    Our distinguished Round Table


    a circle pure,


    is the anvil


    where ideals are beaten


    into truth,


    with the hammer, the sword


    and the axe by


    the heroes of the age.


    Long has the day been


    and the night that led to


    such tales.


    But no sun rises in the east.


    The horizon we see


    does not belong to us


    but to the enemies of our forbearance,


    whilst we cling to the sanctimony


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.of our beliefs, whispered again


    and again in silence


    as we seal our fallen in halls of stone.


    Empty seats are soon filled,


    yet never me.


    They worshipped gods of war


    by slaying their brothers,


    cold steel bursting through warm bodies,


    and they made blood holy,


    yet spilled it with impunity.


    Could purity remain?


    Or is my purpose


    to scorch and to maim,


    to be the executioner


    of the frailties of man?


    The hall goes dark,


    every candle and sconce


    extinguished


    and we see it,


    floating above us


    at the center of the table:


    A vision of gold,


    a goblet, most holy,


    dripping blood


    upon our Table.


    Where the blood falls,


    it scorches and cracks.


    We hear the voices of angels


    promising a quest


    to crown Logres


    as the flower of


    honour and purity:


    The Holy Grail


    beckons, drawing us


    like a lodestone,


    to cure the Fisher King.


    The vision fades,


    and they all fall silent.


    The doors of Camelot burst open


    and light enters the hall once more,


    and in he strides,


    young, golden-haired


    blue-eyed, confident in purpose.


    Immediately,


    they look at Lancelot


    for he is the spitting image of him


    in his younger days,


    yet there is a purity


    to this younger knight


    that holds them all spellbound.


    To their shock,


    and mine


    he takes his seat,


    taking me,


    before anyone


    can say a word.


    Strength has now come again,


    if there is sickness, he is the cure,


    his might is as the strength of ten,


    Because his soul is pure.


    Unrivalled now, he stands apart


    from a world that is yet dark at heart:


    Galahad, glory-bound


    now takes his place


    at Arthur''s court.


    The Siege Perilous is filled


    Our Company is complete,


    and tears fill


    our great king''s eyes.


    His work is done,


    and his heart fills


    at last, even as it breaks.


    For this is their resplendence,


    the final eminence


    of their mighty fellowship.


    ¡°We shall never be greater


    than we are now.


    We shall never be more


    than this moment.


    If only Merlin were


    here to see this day.¡±


    Yet his mentor departed


    long ago,


    sealed in stone and water,


    himself a prisoner


    of love.


    The Holy Grail calls


    the flower of knighthood,


    and they all see


    the truth reflected


    in young Galahad''s eyes:


    One last quest for eternal honour,


    a final task, befitting legends


    ere darkness falls,


    the last and greatest quest


    of the mighty Round Table


    at the height of its power


    when all is golden and good.


    Our greatest glory...


    and the beginning of the end.

 20) Where We Lie Dreaming

    He rested his head


    on a pillar


    of half-formed


    worlds,


    a column of words,


    written in blood


    and tears.


    He''s waiting for


    reality to die,


    filling the pages


    of a grimoire


    with a spell


    to break everything,


    an incantation


    to shatter the world.


    I have spent


    my years


    dreaming in quiet spaces,


    wandering the memories


    of lost civilizations.


    I have uttered words


    whose stone shapes


    have shattered


    the bones


    of unknown gods,


    binding them


    to dark places.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    It was my wish


    to punish the almighty,


    to flay their dreams


    and wear them


    as a cloak.


    And in that wish


    did I create this place?


    This grey world,


    filled with mist and lost hope?


    I saw the ghosts


    of lost loves -


    people I never met,


    And the shadow of my mind


    held on to what was theirs:


    innocent laughter


    echoing through empty forests,


    while unseen children


    laughed and played


    in rivers flowing


    to an ocean


    that had no name.


    And I wonder


    at the memory


    of the shadow of me


    that had another name:


    the child


    that followed


    the ghost


    of a dream


    into the woods.


    I remember a little boy,


    too wise to wake up,


    too eager to dream,


    He got away,


    vanished from the world


    and never came back.


    Perhaps I''m still following


    his shadow,


    the child I used to be,


    tracing the path of my own departure


    through the silence


    of a graveyard world,


    this land of my making:


    a place where gods lie dreaming.

 21) Queen of the Red

    The names of wishes


    were given to her,


    and she dances,


    giving movement


    and meaning


    to the words


    echoing in the


    the silent spaces


    of our hearts.


    The throne-room red,


    filled with fire and fury


    lit with braziers


    that cast her shadows


    on the walls and the floor,


    a mad dance to echo


    the desires of the people


    she leads.


    The wrathful season


    swells with tears shed


    in the bygone yesterdays


    lost in the endless silence


    of love and loss.


    See now


    the captured wishes


    held fast in


    the lazy regard


    of an angel


    standing at the cusp of dawn


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.awaiting the coming downfall.


    The people cry out to her


    to dance their pain away


    to dance their hopes


    into being.


    A war-torn emptiness


    rages through them


    like a storm,


    orphaned horror born


    of grief, terror


    of what the morrow might bring.


    ¡°Dance for us,¡±


    they cry,


    scalded by grief,


    by passion,


    lost in the madness


    of living, the ennui


    of the endless


    day-to-day


    nothings.


    Mad pain


    born of endless failure


    dreams


    sinking into the oblivion


    of quiet despair.


    "Dance for us,"


    they scream,


    their voices ragged


    and hollow.


    ¡°Dance for us,


    Queen of the Red!¡±


    She dances


    as she always has,


    then comes to a stop,


    standing in the silence.


    Unseen to all,


    tears falls


    from her eyes,


    because


    for all their wishes


    and sorrow,


    for all their passion


    and hope,


    She knows that


    these are people


    longing


    to long


    no more.

 22) A Dream Away From Eternity

    and upon the shore, two figures stand,


    wills untamed by the silence,


    hopes washing up from


    the deep and the dark.


    To stand tall and proud,


    gathering what remained


    of might, once-radiant,


    now faded and fallen.


    a restless mind


    forever wandering the abyss,


    pulling back at last,


    daring to live


    love and hope.


    screaming in a dead city


    with everyone else, but now


    I live again, finding my way


    amidst the gray,


    seeking out new skies.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.when it tinges the ocean red.


    Gaze westward, to the promise


    I made, to the dream I carry


    in my head and heart.


    she breathes and sings


    a song filled with the rhythms


    that keeps me alive


    in a place where devils


    lie dreaming.


    revealing now our thundering hearts,


    beating in unison


    to quiet the tempest,


    to bathe the world in


    blood, fire and fury,


    the storm we hold in our hearts


    and minds.


    upon the mist-choked shore,


    and meet your gaze


    across these boundless currents,


    and whisper of love


    and longing,


    forever a dream away


    from eternity.

 23) That Night, Beneath a Clear Sky

    We live in a world


    of eternal sunrises and sunsets.


    My eyes turn westward,


    to where my heart beats


    across the sea.


    A world too small


    to contain our hopes,


    too vile


    for our dreams


    "Why, then,"


    she asks,


    "are you so kind to me,


    when the world is so cruel


    to all the things we want and dream?"


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    I look up at the sky,


    where she resides,


    the lady with the night


    in her eyes,


    a gaze filled with the moon and stars,


    with foxfire in her hair,


    and truth in her smile,


    and glory in her innocence.


    And I was amazed


    that she could not see,


    that I was kind to her


    because she was kind enough


    to be a part of this world,


    and to live in it with me.

 24) Once Upon An Endless Night

    Dark is the night where fell stars rise,


    and comets drift still through the skies,


    while sirens now on black rocks sing


    an elegy for fallen kings


    My soul was lost, all dreams were dead


    My heart forlorn, with tears unshed.


    A pale light called my soul to sleep,


    A darkness came, my dreams to keep.


    I cast my gaze into the night,


    and felt the cold of winter''s bite;


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.I had a dream upon that strand


    of light and shadow, hand-in-hand.


    She sang a song of radiant light,


    on that far shore, now burning bright,


    and drew me up from my own grave,


    a light now came, my soul to save.


    Song of my heart, my heart is lost,


    caught now in silence, Winter''s frost,


    But I remain, for I am blest,


    to see that light come from the West:


    A gentle dream forevermore,


    a dancing hope on that far shore,


    a light on water, shimmering,


    the moon and stars, now glimmering

 25) A Soul Uprooted, A Wanderer Upon the Corpse Shore

    <blockquote>


    It was a dream. A memory.


    </blockquote>


    <blockquote>


    To stand tall and proud,


    gathering what remained


    of might, once-radiant,


    now faded and fallen.


    Faithless, I stand,


    Uprooted, a heart lost


    And cast into the


    midnight sea,


    a restless mind


    forever wandering the abyss,


    pulling back at last,


    daring to live,


    dream and hope.


    I was a ghost,


    screaming in a dead city


    with everyone else, but now


    I live again,


    finding my way


    amidst the gray,


    seeking out new skies.


    A dream shattered and


    cast into the shadows,


    Swallowed whole


    by the sunset.


    </blockquote>


    <blockquote>


    My heart beats in the dusk


    when it tinges the ocean red.


    Gaze westward, to the promise


    I made, to the dream I carry


    in my head and heart.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    </blockquote>


    <blockquote>


    Somewhere on a distant shore,


    she breathes and sings


    a song filled with


    enrapturing rhythms,


    and I rise, restored,


    resurrected, reincarnated,


    revivified by


    a voice


    that uprooted me


    from the corpse shore,


    in a place where devils


    lie dreaming.


    </blockquote>


    <blockquote>


    Peel back flesh and bone,


    revealing now thundering hearts,


    beating in unison


    to quiet the tempest,


    to bathe the world in


    blood, fire and fury,


    the storm we


    hold in our hearts


    and minds.


    </blockquote>


    <blockquote>


    And I will stand


    upon the mist-choked shore,


    and meet your gaze


    across these boundless currents,


    and in the silence,


    in the space between your


    every breath,


    I shall whisper of love


    and longing,


    forever a dream away


    from eternity.


    </blockquote>

 26) An Echo Across The Waves

    Here at the quiet edge of the earth, the world


    weeps its burdens into the darkness,


    The green-gold dreams of summer,


    fading into the silence.


    Slipping into the surge


    without a sound.


    The sea fringes the boundary


    of my known universe


    here at the edge of silence.


    I spy footprints on the strand,


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.Who has gone before me, wandering down


    the pure white sand?


    All around me, I feel the lacing


    of the silken winds,


    and a hand slips in mine:


    A phantom of another world


    gently touches my lips,


    and vanishes into a dream.


    I hear a voice echoing across


    the waves,


    across eternity:


    "One day


    I will return


    to your side."

 27) A Tale Upon the Darkened Sea

    A tale is told, a dawning dream,


    now rising into windless skies,


    a gentle truth, ''neath starlight gleam,


    where hope is born and madness dies


    Ebb and flow, the tide brings in,


    a light and truth forevermore,


    all quiet lies and hidden sin,


    our hopes and dreams, here washed ashore.


    There''ll be no sadness of farewell,


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.no hopelessness when I embark,


    and then upon the ev''ning bell


    we''ll sail together in the dark,


    I seek the truth with aged hands


    and find nothing when twilight falls,


    Upon the navy night we stand,


    within the silence, wait enthralled,


    A tale is told beneath the glow


    of those who stand upon the sea


    and dance upon the ebb and flow:


    the restless ones, forever free

 28) Godslayer

    There are a thousand


    living here


    in this tiny black


    spider crevasse


    above the white beaches,


    at the edge of Winter¡¯s Shore,


    A thousand gods


    living and dreaming


    in the spaces between


    our heaving breaths.


    Offer your prayers to these,


    the silent,


    the fearful


    and the broken.


    They are the wordless,


    slumbering, having long since


    fallen asleep


    when virtuous lips could


    no longer find their names


    in their hearts.


    But I have stumbled here,


    upon their final altar,


    and I see how their light


    is a skittish thing


    dancing away from


    their creation


    I stand


    silent in guilt,


    mindful of the beating of my heart


    in this dead place,


    finding wordless arguments,


    tumbling in the air,


    telling us stories as only grief


    and madness can,


    mutterings intelligible


    only to the sharp ear, attuned


    to the soft despair


    of faithlessness.


    The others have found escape,


    rushing to impale themselves


    on outstretched blades,


    There to find the gentle peace


    of being forgotten.


    I feel the swell


    of memories


    of an older world


    where there existed


    a thousand names


    for the virtuous soul.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.Where swords raised


    cut apart the beasts


    of our hidden fears,


    and we spat out blood


    and dust in triumph


    over the lonely and shattered world


    of dreams.


    I can no longer trust in them,


    the gods who abandoned us


    to this world of hate and shadows.


    I have hunted them down


    denying their benediction,


    seeking plenary relief


    in vindictive savagery.


    Blood slides down


    like fraying thread,


    frozen betrayals


    encompassed in the look of dismay,


    as the thousand fall one by one,


    murdered where they lay


    by my ruthless blade,


    attaining now their final wish,


    waiting here at the end of worlds,


    in shadowed and contorted rest.


    Judgment is offered in profane steel


    to these Immortals who dream of death,


    as Winter¡¯s Tide slowly rises.


    There are now a thousand gasps


    death rattles echoing


    in this quiet hollow at the end of the World,


    with hidden prayers


    found in my final brutal worship,


    a violent communion


    in the quiet jostle


    in this tiny black cave


    My blade is slick


    with the blood of gods


    and hope.


    and I will rise above this world,


    casting my shadow over all.


    My apostasy is


    my apotheosis


    With this


    blasphemy,


    I am made sacrosanct,


    Transcendent,


    towering over all,


    claiming the crown of the divine


    to become


    the smallest sliver


    of infinity.


    I look across the storm-tossed sea,


    see the lightning dancing


    beyond dark clouds,


    brief, violent flashes of light


    cutting through the darkness.


    I''ve seen such brutal


    despair before:


    a world collapsing


    in on itself,


    then suddenly swell,


    like a rising tide.


    I see him approach,


    hear his anguished scream


    resound across the abyss.


    Rushing across the waves,


    here to avenge his fallen brethren:


    the last of the gods.


    In answer, I raise my blade:


    Salvation.


    Wait just a moment longer,


    orphans of faith,


    This godless world will be beautiful.

 29) Desolation - Dii Novensiles

    I remember the days without your songs,


    when every step was an elegy for the world.


    I mocked the shallow shelters


    of the heart, tossed down so easily by gusts


    of emotion, while beneath me, the twisting quicksand


    of my cynicism grasped at my ankles and pulled me


    to a new and peaceful darkness, with safety in in its honesty.


    Only a tapping pulse reminded me of life


    two fingers, held just so on the wrist.


    And to others? They do not know that I am alive.


    There were mists around me, always, holding misshapen fears,


    while castles morphed and twisted high above me, built of clouds and light,


    and dragons wheeled about them in dreams


    that haven''t changed since the forsaken days of my childhood


    Oh, yes, every step an elegy, memories half-asleep and half buried,


    in the sand. Hope floats face-down swept down the river,


    to the vast ocean, there to be forgotten and re-imagined as a god.


    It is the will of man that things beyond our reach are made divine.


    I consider the tatters I wear and tear them off my back


    casting them to the white-foam currents.


    Will those languid, streaming, lifeless tatters be reincarnated?


    Or will they simply seek out Hope in the forgotten places and strangle it?


    I muse over my madness ¨C my body still trapped in sand.


    Am I still as I appear?


    A memory of a dream, caught in the reflection, shattered by the impact of a beating heart?


    The weight of my despair is measured on the scales of night:


    to bring it into the day is to reveal a shard of obsidian,


    cracked and fragile, struck through by the hammer-blows of sorrow.


    A thousand arrows have pierced me, and I have


    been bruised by the slings and arrows of my nightmares.


    Soon now, soon, the world will sing again.


    The dreams of our noble past remembered, my bitter, broken heart,


    in the ferocity held in our will to live. No more shall we be


    contained, and chained to sorrows.


    No more than the span of weeks and months, the dream of new tomorrows,


    when the dawns will be unfamiliar, and joyful for their unfamiliarity.


    And you shall see me, black-cloaked and smiling, as cold as death.


    Regard nothing of this forsaken soul,


    reawakened to the light, standing here at the river


    of twisting truths, feet still rooted in the sands.


    Yet innocence is found, still, in the purity of ageless wishes


    unanchored by time, yet unanswered by fate,


    until fate decrees a moment


    when I hear the rush of wings.


    A soft and gentle sound, yet drowning all else,


    as you alight on my shoulder beside the river of sleep and dreams.


    Nightingale, sweet nightingale,


    you remember me.


    Here we may touch, if only a moment,


    yet those moments are our deathless eternities,


    and such ripples they have sent through our lives already.


    Yes, I have upended myself and fallen into that river, hand


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    reaching up in a false and halfhearted attempt to be saved,


    screaming beneath the surface, as I did not wish to be heard


    and found that I could not be understood, no matter what I wished.


    But now you are here, and I''m afraid.


    I''m afraid that after all this time of screaming beneath the surface


    that when I speak, still my voice shall be muffled, drowning


    emotions in confused silences, which I made to quicken the death


    of dreams.


    Unwittingly, I smothered myself, with the memory of pains repeated


    causing the fear that they would go on endlessly.


    My nightingale, will you forgive me?


    If I cannot yet be all that I need to be, will I be allowed to atone?


    I have tumbled down the river, and came to a bowl


    where a sphinx sits under the water, staring at me


    with measuring eyes, asking if I am worthy.


    as I drove in my seaward plunge to the infinite.


    Nothing will stand between us, but I seek something,


    something I tossed into the ocean, along with the madness


    of annihilation, when I lost myself and was reincarnated


    in the gaunt shape of a fierce black beast.


    And as I come up for air and scream my hopes,


    I see still how you fly overhead, out of reach,


    if only for a moment.


    My queen, do you dream of me?


    The depths lies before me, and rising from them,


    the misbegotten shapes of new worlds,


    rising new-forged and spinning


    from the surface of silent oceans,


    to ascend.


    Yet not in these new shivering worlds do I seek the answers -


    what I want lies at the bottom of the sea.


    How turbulent the journey, how terrible the passage


    yet with renewed vigour do I seek it.


    For as I gasped for air, I heard your song


    and believe that you are singing for me.


    And so, now with steely spine,


    capable of bearing the weight of a thousand destinies,


    I surge into the great unknown, barely noticing


    how the sand has been washed away from my feet.


    And I ponder at the ironies, as the darkness gathers,


    a new and chosen shadow of pelagic depths,


    how a zephyr pushed me into that river, a zephyr,


    which, I saw, has become a hurricane, almost without my knowledge.


    And I plunge into the murk, seeking what I cast away,


    with your song in my limbs, filling my lungs with air.


    Nightingale, nightingale, do you sing for me?


    I have come here, seeking the promise of dissolution


    of a life spent buried in the reflection of my other selves.


    Would that I had drowned instead.


    A tatter of rags floats by me; I seize it and pull it on my shoulders again


    the cloak of what I used to me, washed clean by the forgetful


    waters of the infinite.


    And something glitters far below,


    a star that has fallen to shine in the endless night


    in the wall-less cellars of the seas.


    And that which I''d forgotten


    now remembered me, and all that I had thrown away


    was revivified in me, that and with a muffled triumphant thrust I knew:


    what I had lost had now returned,


    and all that was dark before was incandescent again.


    And I turn from my hunt downwards, and sought the surface again,


    For I knew that in merely seeking it, I''d find it once again.


    As I break the surface of the water, I can hear you singing still,


    and a smile is on my face, no longer cold and grim.


    And as you land upon the waves, and walk upon them,


    you transform, into the dirge of my sorrows, into


    the hymn of my rebirth. For now all silence is flown,


    all nightmares lie forgotten, all fears have been stifled...


    and the hatred nascent in me now drowns in the depths below.


    Your wings become gentle arms, and they are held out wide


    your hair streams behind you on the hurricane of my dreams


    Your lips are parted in a shy and gentle smile,


    and though you are transformed, made real, the dreamer still remains


    For the world with all its wind and endless transformation


    is as silent as a stone about me, except for the song you sing.


    I pull myself up from the depths, and stride upon the surface:


    the river and sands are forgotten, in the expanse of our abyss.


    I hold my hand out to you, and on your face I see,


    a dream of what we used to have, and how we used to be.


    There is beauty in your smile then, and fire in your eyes.


    And the words unspoken between us gives me the strength


    to hope for a world unclouded by vain hopes and mocking reflections.


    I yearn to pull you


    into my embrace but when I do,


    you shatter into a thousand fragments of darkness, escaping


    forever this quiet, empty world.


    There is nothing.


    There is no one.


    In this grey world,


    as I lie drowning


    at the bottom of the sea,


    I remember,


    Nightingale,


    that you are but a memory,


    and I am


    alone.

 30) One Heart, Divided By The Sea

    The waves, the dream, the ebb and flow,


    Are sparkling ''neath the silver moon:


    And to the west my heart now goes;


    My hope and dreams shall follow soon,


    The shadows of distant towers


    are cast upon the sea so blue,


    Lengthening in the slow hours


    That lead me evermore to you


    With you, my heart is pure and clear


    the azure of the cloudless skies,


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    Or the first breath you take this year


    while on my chest your head now lies.


    We lie upon the meadow green,


    and in this place we still ponder,


    of adventures and things unseen,


    walking into the wild yonder


    I see your eyes in the cold dark,


    as we rise from the dew-soaked ground,


    and from your eyes, a starlight spark,


    as from above, the sterling round


    And so I wonder with you now,


    then rest under a golden tree,


    lie beneath these aureate boughs,


    from pain and doubt, forever free


    Into the west, my hope now flies,


    and glimmers ''neath the silver moon,


    I gaze with longing into your eyes,


    and say, ¡°I will be with you soon.¡±

 31) Empress of the Evening Air

    I lay beneath these golden trees,


    and whisper soft into the breeze,


    you sit upon the coral seat,


    with pearls and golden orchids sweet


    Beneath these mighty boughs that shed


    These fuschia blossoms on your head,


    I sigh as though in sweet relief,


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    a dazzling sight beyond belief.


    The beauty of the starlight queen,


    in boundless night forever seen,


    Bright Dream of mine, immortal fair


    Flying undimmed without a care


    Emerging from the distant deep,


    Rising, she set the chained ones free


    And now in silence, fast asleep,


    she glimmers on the moonlit sea.


    I lay beneath these golden boughs


    and smile in silence as I drowse,


    and in my dreams I see her there,


    The empress of the evening air.

 32) Awakening Beneath the Moonlight Fair

    The long day wanes, and so it goes,


    the red dusk past, the silence looms,


    beneath an ephemeral glow,


    a gentle moonlit dream here blooms


    Here, the heavenly skies are bare,


    near waters on a starless night,


    the moon and hope glows bright and fair,


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    some truth of otherworldly light


    The seastar rises from the earth,


    the nightbird now looks on and sings,


    at dream and truth''s glimmering birth,


    a song to pull at the heartstrings


    A timely radiance brings relief


    though we''re divided by the skies,


    I see a light beyond belief,


    glimmering within your eyes.


    Across the restless waves I go


    From the shadow, into the air


    and one day, ''neath that silver glow,


    you will then wake to find me there.

 33) The Emperors Dream

    I wither slowly in her arms,


    Here at the edge of dreams,


    An auburn-haired shadow


    roaming like a fantasy


    through the singing spaces


    in the gold-flecked summer shade,


    serenaded by sparrows


    and lyrebirds echoing


    the song of the sea.


    No more than a memory,


    here in this grave-silent


    emptiness.


    The spirit passes them by


    and even their shadows


    fall silent


    stunned by her beauty


    before resuming


    their fading song


    as we languish beneath


    the dull music of the sun,


    and the undulations


    of the empty rhythms


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    The quiet moments


    that exist without love''s music


    are filled only


    with the sighs


    of a longing heart.


    I turn my face to the west


    where a pale light


    burned on the horizon.


    I wander the


    grey strand in search


    of hope,


    amidst the


    The silent spaces,


    through far-folded mists,


    I tread the pallid sea


    in the frail morning light,


    hoping that this silence


    will shatter with the


    quiet song, the gentle rhythms


    of a long-forgotten


    wondrous melody.


    Walk with me,


    into the mist


    and the stillness


    And bask in the quietly fading


    moonlit ephemera


    of our mortal lives.

 34) Holobenthic

    On a soft, misty silver morn,


    the shadow deepens in the dawn,


    encroaches now on fallen arks,


    in the silence, the deep and dark.


    It glitters now with many lights


    Luminescent in endless night,


    flowers that in the dark here bloom,


    that light its form now in the gloom.


    Here it lies: Deep Hollowing


    but there are no bards here to sing


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    not of its reign, nor its dark bliss,


    here in the deep shadowed abyss.


    It comes now to its darkened throne,


    ancient shipwrecks and old drowned bones,


    that to the deep and dark did fall,


    to the king who devours all.


    Many-armed with luminous eyes,


    with no desire to see the skies,


    The unseen shadow, deep sea scourge,


    will not from these depths emerge.


    Only in myths it brings an end


    a ghost haunting the dreams of men.


    And he speaks to all as they sleep,


    enchantments from the dark and deep.


    Drawing them to once more set sail,


    to founder and sink, drown and fail.


    And we''ll find our audience then,


    with the beast in its shadowed den.


    For there we''ll see Deep Hollowing:


    And bow before the sunken king

 35) Ephemeral Tranquility

    Here, before the shadow,


    the caress of the wind in the silent night,


    is measured by the breaths


    of a fitful sleeper,


    The years heap their withered hours,


    Like leaves fallen in autumn, upon our decay,


    and we dream a quiet madness in our day,


    as we wander this Elysian isle,


    between both the conscious and the fugue awhile.


    And we two will walk together,


    beneath this fitful, dreamy weather,


    and wander on shorelines ere we ascend


    to the edge, where the horizon bends,


    and with the wind to drive our hearts


    to crossroads where


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    devils and angels part,


    and wonder beneath this azure bliss,


    of the faintest touch,


    the zephyr''s kiss.


    And here with spirits bound together,


    we dream upon the soul-graven shore,


    forever lost in the ebb and flowing caress of the sea,


    that trembles and glitters in


    the Dreaming in susurrating ecstasy.


    I stand upon that ghost-lit path


    beneath the ephemeral glow of the pale moon,


    in a garden of transient delight.


    Our hands seek each other,


    Till like two suns of ever-expanding flame,


    The touch renders us one and the same,


    Transfigured and mixed, chaotic, yet ever-still,


    a dream embodied in resolute will


    to nourish us in this quiet night


    with hopes and dreams, burning bright,


    One truth born within a soul bound


    to two eclipsing minds,


    and with it, life, death, heaven, hell,


    eternity and annihilation.


    You turn and smile at me,


    and I know that tranquility


    is more than this moment:


    It is all creation,


    bound in gentleness:


    a dream of a kinder silence,


    fleeting and forgotten in the night.

 36) Metamorphosis - a Silkbound Dream

    I dreamed once, beneath the moon''s glow


    to rise from the earth and ascend


    but now this life has reached its end,


    It''s time, at last, for me to go.


    And here remain languid glories


    a wish to see more wayward skies


    dreams held bound in watery sighs,


    whispers now of hopeful stories.


    And so now I endure the storm


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    lost and dreaming in silent caves,


    tossed and turning in silken graves,


    Until we rise then, all transformed.


    Dream in darkness, in silk entombed


    I languish here, both night and day,


    I die and wish old lives away.


    Until I''m from this crypt exhumed


    In death, reborn, new hope''s delight,


    fluttering soul now to display


    this dreamed-of form in light of day,


    and then into the dead of night.


    Emptied, broken, and now all dried


    The cocoon falls now to the floor


    echo of what I was before,


    the hearse in which I dreamed and died.


    And now I''m drawn to distant light,


    with newfound dreams now set ablaze,


    wandering ''neath a moonlit gaze,


    A moth silkborn in silent night

 37) Ignis Fatuus

    These fading phantom flames


    Now feed upon the ghost-lights of unearthly


    dreams


    one hope borne within many


    one will beneath the deep and the dark


    of the Nightward Sea.


    One death, one life,


    one truth, one eternity


    And one annihilation.


    They rise now, twilight phantasms


    from noon-day dreams,


    unveiled from a quiet


    sanctuary,


    suspended in the solitary dome


    of some arcane and deserted fane,


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    ghost flames drifting in the night sky,


    each bearing the voices of the lost


    and the forsaken


    from some untimely tombs


    with reverence raised


    to the dream of the gentle and the brave,


    but the charmed eddies of autumn winds


    now swirl the mouldering leaves,


    and rustle in a soft whisper,


    the echoes of a dreamt-of fate:


    Here we lived, we loved, we dreamed


    we died,


    and are remembered,


    the foolish flame


    of our ambition,


    emboldened to seek out truth


    and define the madness of the world


    as a thing conquered and destroyed


    by the resolve of our immortal spirits.


    Burn now,


    forever imperishable


    you fallen,


    you dead who dream on,


    While we languish


    in our brief,


    collapsing utopias.


    One day, we will burn together,


    a foolish flame ,


    flickering and dying


    in the silence.

 38) Ember

    While moonlight held the sky,


    an old beast slumbered fitfully,


    beset by fever dreams


    of swiftly flickering lights.


    At night desire came,


    the fierce fiend of a distempered memory,


    an ember flickering amidst the ashes


    of the past


    I beheld a flickering light in the night sky


    falling to the horizon,


    and beneath the starburst gleam,


    I pursued the fading radiance


    of that far-flung dream


    Through night and day


    storm, calm and mist,


    frantic with an ineffable anguish,


    a blind-driven flight spurred on


    by the whips of nameless masters -


    the passions that drive the heart.


    Beneath the cold glare


    of the desolate night,


    through mountain paths and trackless swamps


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    stirring with careless steps


    the swarm of fireflies at rest,


    and they surge skyward


    a cloud of earth-born stars,


    flickering in their panic.


    Day after a day,


    a dream born from feverish need


    in the hours wasted on idle fancies,


    bearing within my heart


    a warm silence,


    brooding on a decaying flame,


    and with time came the autumn


    of the strange suffering


    of the fire and the yearning


    while the temperate winds


    sang dirges in the twilit air.


    My hand reached out to grasp


    the sunset,


    to seize it


    and freeze this moment in time.


    But here, heaven remained


    bloodstained red,


    the murky shades immersed


    in an image, silent, cold and deathless,


    as a spark ignited within the soul,


    whispers rising like vapours from the muck and mire


    of ordinary life


    that ministered now the fading light.


    There is a dream there, somewhere


    a flicker of amber


    deep within.


    Life, and the radiance that consumed it


    emanated a remembered heat,


    the memory of an inferno


    burning secretly


    in the recesses of the soul.


    But from the ashes, new hope


    springs from hopelessness


    and the cage of despair is shattered


    at the sound of a songbird''s


    morning serenade.


    From that fitful dream I woke


    and the ashes in my soul began to burn,


    an ember,


    quickly taking flame


    once more.

 39) The Interlunar Inumbrations of Ipos

    Throughout these infinite orbs of singing light,


    held bound by rites and prayers


    of which this poor world is one


    and here lies diffused


    a spirit of ungodly dreams,


    that knows neither cessation nor decay,


    that fades not when the wisp


    of midnight lamps are extinguished


    in the dampness of a grave.


    Here they slumber, unaware,


    crude, barbaric creatures, caught in the


    fierce whirlwind, the skirling eddies


    of time and dreams and lost things,


    as we gaze into the eternal universe,


    standing upon a deathless battlement


    of hope,


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    Here they rise, they shout, they flail


    and falter, and with all passions


    give not a thought to the madness


    of their desires.


    Bind now the soul of the universe


    enchaining its will to illimitable fate,


    and draw now the all-influencing virtue


    passing unrecognized into the pyre of


    the new gods of this


    tiny, bloated world.


    An eternal spring of life and death,


    the endless decay


    of transient wishes


    and immortal sin,


    lies burning and blackening in the fires


    of their souls.


    Fate requires nothing of us.


    They are the despair embodied,


    Vanishing like smoke before the tempest,


    They shall be cast out to the torrent,


    And drown in the dark ocean,


    to die lost and alone in the restless depths,


    to be torn apart again and again,


    shattering endlessly


    in the dark.


    And here, upon nescient seas,


    The breath and blood of distant gods,


    gives life to the violent impulses of sublunar beings


    and I shall walk in the moonless night


    whispering of madness and fate to the circling air.

 40) The Time-Dreaming Beast

    Time-dreamed City, you have been


    Ocean-bound, and here unseen,


    Where now is come a darker day,


    And you too soon must be his prey,


    for ''neath the days of light and rime,


    we are all devoured now by time,


    If the power that raised it here


    Venerates this watery bier.


    The silent depths lay conquered now,


    And stars fallen now crown his brow


    Will damned now dream from drowned graves


    Of his throne, amidst the waves.


    Scrimshawed, diamonded and pearled,


    Crowned within the hidden world,


    the Coiled One here beneath the sea,


    gently nudges eternity.


    Slow it moves, the hands of fate,


    And all is in its ancient state,


    With glowing sea-blooms overgrown,


    the gates of coral, jade and bone.


    And dreaming in the wine-dark sea


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    ''neath currents of infinity,


    The Mighty One finds his way,


    wandering at the close of day,


    breathing dreams forevermore


    that shall then wash on distant shores.


    They linger here, these human forms,


    beneath the darkness and the storms,


    the wretched soul now writhes and squirms


    like sin-stained, polluted worms


    that to the corpse of greatness cling,


    slaughtered now and mouldering,


    Yet even these might someday be


    from their wretched sinful forms set free.


    Twining memories of old time


    gaining virtues more sublime,


    If not, then may their souls decay


    As night will fade to dawning day


    these lost souls, withered and grey


    shall shatter, fade and waste away.


    Wilting now like dying flowers,


    In the waste of years and hours,


    And from their passing new things spring


    With ever-greater blossoming.


    What wretched things, these mortal souls,


    yet even these must play their roles,


    For things that dwell in joy or pain,


    those who serve and those who reign,


    shall find a place in this enshrined,


    within the flow of time entwined.


    And so the distant, dreaming drowned,


    once lost and in the deep now found,


    may stir again from fitful sleep


    and find life in the starlight deep.


    the humble and true, the proud and vain


    all souls exist in his domain,


    From every creed and every clime -


    all follow the flow of time.


    And there they shall his might behold,


    A Dragon Coiled, Azure and Gold

 41) The Gloaming of the Fairy Glen

    I rise here in the early morn,


    shadows fleeing before the dawn,


    The sun will soon usurp the moon


    To offer us its golden boon.


    But there are times I wish the night


    would linger still, with its moonlight.


    Another night, I dreamed again


    The gloaming of the Fairy Glen.


    Oberon was the Fairy King,


    Of him the legends softly sing


    And naught of him was ever seen,


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    without Titania, his queen


    and in the night, a fey mad face


    dreamed now a mysterious place


    From morning now, till dusk again,


    They dance within the Fairy Glen.


    Now shadowed wings and magic spells,


    darken the hearts that here do dwell,


    With staves and spears, Oberon''s folk


    weave magic with their mist and smoke,


    with incense and cinnamon sweet,


    they obfuscate their bright retreat,


    with sorcery, they mask their den


    in shadows now, the Fairy Glen.


    I hear a trill, a voice sublime,


    that stills the cold passage of time.


    Magic fire and arcane frost,


    Fae-born dreams, and immortals lost


    Beneath the pall of navy night,


    Now trapped in webs and fairy light


    Take care, then, if you wander in


    The gloaming of the Fairy Glen.

 42) Novas Wish

    Dream imperishable, let there be


    this silver hope, lifeless and free,


    floating oer the heartless sea.


    The navy garment of the skies


    now clothes the world, ere it dies


    remembrance in this bitter clime


    a shattered light now more sublime


    than the grey and tattered pall of time.


    The silver light now overwhelms


    Driven now from savage realms


    argent light on pallid streams


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    carried forth on shattered dreams.


    Wishes made upon its light


    find their echoes in the night,


    Though light from distant spheres have fled


    from stars that might already be dead,


    but though that undead light might fall,


    its radiance will outlive us all.


    And we will pass to dust and shade


    before its light begins to fade.


    And through the passing nights and days


    we''ll live and dream beneath its gaze,


    then die beneath its distant rays,


    Now tell me, Nova, burning bright


    in the shadow, in the night.


    Tell me Nova, of your light


    that burns eternal in our sight.


    While swift we wilt now and decay,


    these pale shades that fade away


    And Nova, see as we go grey


    Tell the mortals, fading thus


    if you would make a wish of us.

 43) An Elfsong of Wandering

    In far-off realms beneath the sun


    ''tis there, blossoming bright in Spring


    Where flowers bud, pure waters run


    While joyful little finches sing.


    I see also a cloudless night


    Where swaying branches softly bear


    Fairy-blooms, and elf-stars white


    Amid their gold-green, branching hair.


    Here in the healing sea I lie,


    Upon the ocean''s churning deep


    Beneath the navy, darkened sky


    Beyond the threshold, now, of sleep.


    Above all shadows, there it dwells,


    A promise in the silent air,


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    To rise skywards and find it there.


    We''ll find that haven, fair and free,


    And go beyond the starlit sea,


    Where then at last, we will ascend,


    And find in truth our journey''s end:


    To rise above the restless blue


    To find a sky of fairer hue.

 44) The Dancing Sylph

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    and through the gaps of mountain peaks.

 45) Lucifer

    In Heaven then, before our birth,


    an angel would question our worth,


    In the quiet, young and nescient earth,


    he observed with neither hope, nor mirth


    Around him then, the winds they whirled,


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    and then at dusk, black wings unfurled,


    before him, hell, the unseen world.


    Pandemonium seethes and crawls,


    with shadows in its cloistered walls,


    He surges through thunder and squalls,


    Until, like lightning then, he falls.

 46) The Star-Cursed Vault

    Here behold unshapen dooms,


    And shadows rising from their tombs;


    Oblivion, with eyes like stars,


    silver beams streaming like scars,


    etched into the flesh of night,


    burning hopes now gleaming bright.


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    of ancient lights empyreal.


    Empires of a vagabond waste,


    from elder, unseen worlds displaced


    undyed with neither truth nor lies,


    pleniluned gaze in eldritch eyes.


    Forlorn, now, that cursed light


    that blinds and burns our mundane sight,


    and beyond those old star-born gleams,


    Gods slumber in a vault of dreams.

 47) Sunset in the Fallen Kingdom

    In silence now,


    the reddening dusk passes


    Eternity gilds the walls


    with the fading hues


    of sunset.


    In a warm autumn wind,


    the leaves spiral on


    in abandoned arcades,


    while unabating rays fall from the sky,


    The sun, pale and weak,


    yearns to breathe


    life into the dead and gone,


    yet its light falters before the fallen,


    monotonous and feeble in its reach.


    Vines climb the wrecked walls,


    the broken ramparts


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.of a decaying dream,


    and over the garden paths,


    ghosts breathe their lost wishes,


    and implicated in rumours


    of entwining grey,


    clinging to the earth,


    the mists of muffled light


    and hopes undone.


    In the echoes of this place, they offer


    twilight-tossed whispers in the wind


    Of love and pain in wayward lands,


    ere they fade into the gentle oblivion


    of being forgotten.


    This abandoned land is


    peopled only


    By flocks of finches singing


    gentle songs, a peaceful dirge


    in a ruinous palace,


    bathed in fading crimson flares.

 48) Innocence

    The light declines in waning gold


    Amidst the stars now ashen-grey,


    Lost in the pallor of decay,


    Silence in the gathering cold.


    Now, in lunar interludes,


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    and in the darkness makes its nest


    In shadows where the silence broods;


    And from the soul new light is born,


    that then this world now passes by;


    To me it seems the futile sigh


    Exhaled by distant moons forlorn.

 49) The Musings of Zophiel

    Above the world


    the ghostly suns have


    burned out


    like candles guttering


    in the night.


    In the ascendant skies,


    there succeeded a fugitive light,


    stretched out like a scar


    across the navy-stained


    heavens.


    I belong to those wayward ideals


    Once known, or once suspected,


    That exist no more for man.


    I drove them from paradise,


    a burning blade forever


    barring the way.


    Sometimes I am glimpsed by dreamers


    Whose eyes have not been blinded


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.By the hell-lamps


    of their fallen decadence.


    In me you''ll find lost dreams;


    the pale desire


    Whose eyes have looked on madness,


    Their own faltering light inverted;


    the vanity that only tells of


    love and hope.


    Like a song


    Heard from afar,


    imperishable beauty calls


    Out of the mist and rain


    across the limitless sea,


    Like the silent silver


    song of the faded phantom moon.


    When the night is blind,


    a golden memory falls,


    Never to rise again.


    Voice of the leaves that die,


    Whisper and sigh


    Of gardens waning,


    imperfect, and forever-decaying


    facsimiles of Eden,


    their hollow lights


    slowly fading into the night.

 50) Beneath a Fading Star

    The fading star is an evocation


    Of suns under which


    we''ve walked before,


    and far off I see


    Desolate oceans, and the light


    shining softly on lonely plains:


    Dying moons that wander


    in the plains of ice and sand.


    Under those revenant Lights,


    I long to lose


    In the all-devouring darkness


    this ever-aching loneliness.


    The cloud-strewn


    horizons, infinite and far


    now veil my destination to the west:


    Spaces of fire and night,


    Where ghostfire lilies open


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.up on rolling hills,


    and glittering stars


    fallen to the sea


    wash ashore on bone-white sands.


    Beneath the gaze of


    formless gods,


    we breathed life into


    the bygone hopes and wishes,


    the evanescent dreams


    Of distant loves


    and prodigal autumns,


    that we may dance


    in the flame of our mortality.


    There the skies of silver and iron


    Gleam with divine malignity over


    sunset-haunted lands,


    whispering of forgotten histories


    and fallen glories,


    where phantom castles stand.

 51) The Fallen God

    We stand before the tide,


    beholden to some alien moon,


    watching the ebb and flow


    of distant hopes and wishes


    in an unfading fantasy.


    A devil stood in the evening rain,


    a shadow in the crimson light,


    haloed by the setting sun,


    it stood upon those pearly shores,


    the revelation


    of some madness descended


    from the beauty


    of balefire stars,


    Here, between the echoes


    Stillness and dusk briefly come to rest,


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.Stains of crimson spill on the crest


    Of mountains where silent wishes flit


    Between the peaks of memory.


    The moon declines in lonely silver


    Among the pearly white stars


    with heaven above,


    Veiling the pallours of our withering


    With clouds and desires


    forgotten in the passing days


    of our ceaseless wandering


    Into the thin and trembling gloom,


    we walk, bearing in our hearts


    the memory of our faded glory,


    pondering forever


    the hueless warp of light


    that was once


    the boundless splendour


    of divinity.

 52) The Everbloom

    Upon this weary world of dreams,


    Death follows life, or so it seems,


    but one thing does evade this doom:


    I speak now of the Everbloom.


    In other worlds, on other moons,


    With stars wrapped up in void cocoons


    To us mere fragile motes of light,


    Across vast distances of night.


    A thing of light and gentle cold


    in starlight echoes, blue and gold


    Etched with magic and strange runes,


    an entity from distant moons,


    Through empty space in silence flew


    Then it took root midst morning dew,


    it seeded here and found its birth,


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.in silent hollows ''neath the earth.


    It flowered the following morn,


    And cold spread out that fateful dawn,


    And Winter came in frost and rime,


    freezing hope, light and even time.


    I watched it flower from afar,


    that cold bloom from a distant star


    And felt the touch of icy breath,


    the silence on the winds of death.


    Gone now is the grief of change


    In stasis now, mundane and strange


    In icy coffins, great and small


    The Everbloom has frozen all.


    Death and silence, all untold,


    and I feel now the gathering cold,


    The world will die in icy gloom,


    Swallowed whole by the Everbloom.


    Yes, all things fade, and all things die,


    in silence ''neath that wretched sky,


    But one thing will evade that doom:


    I speak now of the Everbloom.

 53) The Horizon

    It''s the place our hastening feet


    shall not find, for indeed it seems,


    that for each step, it will retreat,


    out of reach, like wayward dreams.


    Far-veiled in blue, crimson and grey


    It calls to us, elusive, fair


    To seek and find it every day,


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.a temptress in the morning air.


    With cheerful hearts and courage then,


    we rise and walk at break of dawn,


    and hope to find our journey''s end,


    with hopeful hearts, then, we press on.


    Until we see, in the eve,


    That distant railing in the west,


    and know it will ever deceive,


    those pursuing this weary quest

 54) The Memories of Eve

    The silence of the upper deep,


    the remnant hopes of dream-filled sleep,


    the wishes borne beneath the sun,


    of those who dread oblivion


    In darkness, then this hope will keep.


    What shall wayward horizons hold


    For us, on distant paths untold¡ª


    When those of us who tarried here


    dwelt in dread of that far sphere


    Lingering in the mist and cold.


    Wanderers by an ocean-stream,


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.Longing for dawn drawn from a dream;


    In silent exile,bitter tears,


    We shall behold, in withered years,


    These butterflies that flit and gleam.


    And here beneath the stars so bright,


    I bear within this hallowed light,


    the bitterness of sacrifice,


    a memory of paradise,


    As I wander into the night.


    You and I were made for this,


    To wander through the dark abyss


    And through the dark, the toil and strife,


    we shall eke out a quiet life,


    in promised lands, now filled with bliss.

 55) City of Clouds

    City of dreams, that far and high


    is all suffused with pearl and rose,


    Above red sunsets hangs and glows,


    held aloft between earth and sky.


    A city of clouds raised up high


    On mountain peaks, eternal snow


    Within its bounds; grey rivers flow


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.Beyond even where eagles fly.


    And in that space, the upper air,


    Walls of mist and vapours stand,


    Its towers gleam with magic light.


    And round their spires the sun now flares


    O''er rounded domes, where banners fanned


    By sylphine winds, borne into night.

 56) Marchosias

    The wanderer halted,


    looking back at dreams,


    as pure as snow,


    for the tread of aureate-footed light


    lay far behind,


    still drowned in twilight''s


    stagnant purples,


    toiling up even to the very threshold


    of the heavens,


    He heard the eagles hail the sun


    Round the forsaken throne


    of a nameless god,


    until the morning''s levin-colored ray


    lightened the back of the fallen angel,


    and he paused,


    while over him ethereal glory glowed


    rousing the dreaming colors


    in the clouds


    to give the sea its


    immemorial green


    and strike the towering cities


    of their memories


    into gold along the low horizon.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Returning vision flowed,


    power revived his ailing limbs,


    and he sought to define


    reality by ascertaining meaning


    from the tellurian shapes and images


    of dreams:


    the effigies of men


    and women dancing


    before bonfires,


    The noontide shapes of


    devils in the clouds,


    The meres that curve in the darkening


    night towards a memory


    of Pandemonium


    and the chaos that birthed the stars.


    Demon moons blaze paths


    across the midnight sky:


    The watch-fires of


    the ever vigilant gaze


    flame like fallen stars,


    a eternal crown of gold


    on a coveted horizon,


    forever out of reach.

 57) Oberons Desire

    A mirror revealed,


    past the twin moons


    Circling some fugitive world


    outmost in the dark:


    The brazen empire,


    The unhindered dominions


    of the stainless sky¨D


    These I desire,


    and the heavens as well,


    Revealing a mirror through which


    we might pass into a world


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.untouched by darkness


    By demons wrought from lunar metals


    Here burnished forms of silver light,


    containing fae faces vanishing,


    And gentle phantoms lovelier


    than the gloaming


    of a Midsummer''s Night.


    The hope I feel today


    Somehow renews


    the bygone flames and wishes,


    The vanished profound moods


    And evanescent dreams of yesteryear,


    the madness of the love I felt


    before.


    Come, weary dreamer,


    let us wander through


    the maddening dark


    together.

 58) Autumntide

    In silence,


    the fading summer passes,


    the plovers fly,


    the river gleams golden


    where amber half-lights wane,


    a dreaming kiss of the golden season


    as the flowers wither.


    Walled with far indigoes


    of the slumbering year,


    The season on a windless altar burns;


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.Splendid as rubies


    glittering on a sea of sand.


    My heart has taken


    from the torched leaf


    A swiftly soaring glory,


    and the grief


    Of withering hope is colored


    like the dying year,


    with scattered petals


    and dandelions drifting


    into the west.

 59) Fulgurous Fantasy

    The enchantress weaves


    Strange spells that cast a falling sun


    Into funereal regions dark,


    To rest on towers of shadow and mist,


    Whose dream-mottled castle have


    Time¡¯s spectre for its steward.


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    In the silence, a tyrant walks


    In the thunder-echoing sky,


    In levinbolt palaces


    Somber and grey


    Beyond a moon


    Moated with


    Ever-withering infinities.

 60) Drift and Fall

    Like the voice of a silver star,


    Heard now from afar,


    soft and quiet, beauty calls


    Out of the dreaming rain;


    Upon the neon-tinted horizon


    Murmuring music falls,


    Never to rise again.


    Voice of the flames that die,


    in fallen whispers


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.On ruinous gardens waning


    by ungathered bouquets


    Voices of hope


    and the midnight sun


    In my heart, these two are one,


    Fair the petals falling


    drifting on golden winds,


    fire-flecked hope residing


    in sunset-haunted


    hollow skies.

 61) Scatter

    The gentle snows are falling now;


    Down from the petal-clouded sky


    Of mistral-rustled branch and stalk


    In shimmering white whorls they fly.


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    The earth, untempered, fierce and wild


    Is winter-hued, those fragments bright:


    And from the heavens, glimmer down


    the petals now like shards of light.

 62) Memento Mori

    Upon this eyrie, now we stand,


    gazing down into the abyss


    of limited years and the unvaried dark


    that veil eternity.


    I saw then the sun and the world


    shadowed in the darkest night;


    we have come to the end,


    the final sunset,


    the place where every dream


    must end.


    And we, fallen incarnations all,


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.of what was once endless,


    now walk as fragments on the brink


    of darkness.


    Time, that withering specter,


    follows us, hounding our steps,


    till we reach this place,


    this


    point


    of no return.


    Nostalgia yields naught but twisted


    memories; the rose-tinted


    perpetuity is a space discorporated


    of truth and hope, and at last,


    a journey comes to an end,


    drawn voidward by the


    lamprey-kiss of mortality.

 63) Gentle Winds, Gentle Hopes

    Bright, and clear and azure blue,


    Tearless eyes that have forgot


    Far-grown loves, or find it not,


    As sunlight melts the morning dew.


    Here in this cool afternoon,


    ensorcelled blue, and yet so brief


    The zephyrs brush away our grief


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.Mute beneath a spectral moon.


    In dreams then, the finch and lark,


    sing softly of the seasons flown


    of love that wanders yet alone,


    Until at last the days turns dark


    In silence, then, the heart then grieves


    these umbral days, this dead year''s dream,


    But hope endures in starlight gleam,


    While gentle winds caress the leaves.

 64) The Forsaken and Forgotten

    Within this world, the gloom withheld,


    A people from a hidden place,


    Came and went, as though compelled,


    by some god''s forsaken grace.


    Time marked them, but unobserved,


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.forsaken by the gods they served


    Like whirls of dust, they passed us by,


    cloud temples with their columns blown¡ª


    they vanished into the blue sky,


    and died unmourned, lost and alone.

 65) The Butterfly

    A symbol of Impermanence,


    Appealing to this deeper sense.


    Mortal word of Beauty''s tongue,


    In silence is its glamour sung,


    Of that high mystic harmony


    Transfigured beyond memory,


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.In silence then beneath the dawn,


    from crystal tombs to life reborn


    Descending now to the flower


    the rapture of a summer hour,


    to feed in rebirth''s afterglow,


    ere bending to time''s ebb and flow.

 66) The Promised Land

    Black trees above an opal lake


    a grey cliff with grim silhouette


    And clouds above the cliff opaque


    Rose-hued now with a soft sunset


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    A longed-for place beyond the world,


    A dream of perfect harmony,


    while birds above swerved and swirled


    In gardens of our memory

 67) God Complex

    I know always the weariness of dreams,


    The great and grievous vanity of joy and hope;


    Frail wishes that pass,


    where lassitude and torpor remain,


    Feverish fervour


    and desperate, brief delights;


    A dream of somewhat fallen fortune,


    beneath a silver moon standing watch


    over our wishes and hopes, as we stand


    beneath the drifting petals


    that tremble, flame and fall


    in the sunset,


    the slowly wasting trees,


    the dawns and the stars that wane


    on the tides of the seasons.


    And here, beneath this savage light,


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    The stellar-manifested truth sublime,


    We must gaze with sight immutable


    to understand and wield


    the brutal radiance of creation


    and wield the powers


    of life and death.


    Only for these who dance in our light


    are the memories


    Of sorcerous moons and


    hopeful suns that were;


    And we have found,


    where fallen leaves now stir,


    the dreams of those


    who withered and died


    beneath the bale-white


    gleam,


    the relentless march of our


    blessed infinities.

 68) What Remains of Eden

    The magic of the silver night


    lies in silence upon the stone


    Where spectral mountains dream in light


    in dark lands as yet unknown.


    In pallid, deep eternal sleep,


    enchanted valleys, far and strange


    languish beneath these splendours deep,


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.forever silent without change.


    The fruit of knowledge, now long gone


    the light is gone from this embrace,


    the verdant forest now withdrawn


    to a single thing, bereft of grace:


    A grey and withered leafless tree,


    a statue carved of weathered bone


    is drawn from a god''s memory;


    it stands in moonward fields, alone

 69) Annwn

    There beyond the embrace of land


    And out beyond the ocean''s reach,


    I saw a mighty city spanned


    across they sky above a beach


    that glimmers now with golden sand.


    Of starlight then is formed each wall;


    Each dome a moon, or so it seems;


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.And through each tower looming tall


    A ray of bright sorcery gleams:


    A pearl-white flame in every hall.


    And yet the fog now dims their glow


    and veils their splendours from afar


    Like broken dreams, they are brought low


    descending now from cloud and star,


    where sinking hopes of daylight flow

 70) Incarnation

    In silence watch the seasons pass


    With golden pageantries in bloom,


    a chrysalis, my quiet womb,


    in realms with tilting leaves and grass.


    It seems to me I know the tears


    of other souls, their joy and pain


    they lived and died ''neath sun and rain,


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.''neath fading light in bygone years.


    Mine, the grief of change and death,


    of simple things beyond recall,


    Mine, the soft light of dawns, and all


    The morning''s vanished dreams and breath.


    Now comes the hour of my rebirth


    And forever does the heart aspire,


    And seek, on wings of purple fire,


    My place and purpose on this earth

 71) Lethe

    From these shadows, a haunted path,


    a silver serpent


    slips through the darkness


    Cool wind and bitterness now stirs awake


    the soul that slumbers here before


    the whispering waters


    that dreams its name.


    Here the darkness has drunk a cerulean day:


    The goblin-shaped miasmas of the night


    And phantom griffins of the mist take flight


    along a poppy-flowered path


    Dark dreams of eidolons,


    The fitful and fevered


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.ghosts bearing the hate


    of the fallen,


    the pale desire


    whose eyes have looked on


    sorrow and have seen,


    Deep in the slithering ebon tide,


    Their own unavailing light inverted;


    the whispered secret of love and despair,


    the twisted hopes withering blind


    before the winter-blossoming flowers.


    The land lies darkling and forlorn,


    while falling stars flicker and fade,


    Their faltering amethyst flames light


    the river flowing into the endlessness,


    eternity itself


    dimmed and weathered by


    oblivion.

 72) Mammon

    I have seen it:


    A grey planet, as old in wrath and grief


    As any hell.


    Disease and war


    Have now repaid to thieving time


    The breath of all its peoples;


    A shadow delivering now


    the hopes and wishes of all


    To one decay


    in Fate''s abysmal vault.


    And I shall have it all.


    Like thunder on the sunset,


    Death''s wings spread and


    stifle half the light in the sky,


    On the further stars,


    a black shadow is cast,


    But I shall set my course


    on worlds unknown in the


    outer infinite,


    and there conquer


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.the ever-changing spheres and shifting spaces -


    though the mad planet and


    its writhing peoples


    should be destroyed-


    I shall abide


    And on immortal quests fly


    into the dark.


    Neither as cold nor as kind as ours,


    The stars of those forgotten hours.


    The peace and pallor of the flowers


    of life that have fevered


    and been marred


    by the stain of humanity''s shadow,


    the distilled malice and blight


    of the infernal and wretched regard


    of a cooling sun,


    as their corpses stare


    with empty, worm-eaten eyes,


    halted in a timeward march


    to oblivion, preserved only


    to observe


    my ascension


    as King of all The World.

 73) Aimlessness

    Now asleep on the wine-dark sea, unfurled, alone,


    all that I glimpse¡ªthe horizon''s lofty ragged


    ridges, the silhouette of a living,


    breathing world in the distance,


    quivering like a human heart,


    the echo of time pulsing


    with light.


    I close my eyes


    and see in my mind the memories


    of towns lit up


    like a string of neon pearls


    stretched out over the darkness,Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    But I have left it all behind, to soar


    on the surface of a cobalt-blue


    sea, sensing in each wisp of current


    the hint of something resembling a direction


    like the wish for meaning,


    the ghost of purpose


    haunting the consciousness


    as though we were meant to be something,


    anything at all.


    Memories lost in the time and the tide,


    like the rest of me,


    carried out into the infinite,


    there to die and dream


    eternally.

 74) Prism

    A dream, as clear as a graven name,


    brings to mind


    an icy tundra,


    where I saw


    in the pallid sky


    a crystal in


    place of the sun.


    Before my gaze a prism stands,


    athwart the empty air,


    As on a threshold of


    the frigid lands


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.A frozen sun


    forevermore the same.


    In that prism, light bends,


    the world refracts,


    perspective twists


    and turns.


    Those who gaze into it


    see neither the future


    nor the past, but only


    their bitter wills,


    broken


    and twisted by time.

 75) Pyretic

    From break of dawn,


    the blazing morn,


    now burns all things away.


    Tell me finch


    and sparrow,


    shall there again


    be this timeless, red calenture?


    These days with fire filled,


    cicada-dreamed,


    a sickness sung and shrilled


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.a song whined in the


    chord of crickets


    and mosquitoes


    feasting anew


    on this fever-wearied blood,


    oppressed by heat


    and the lethargy of these


    slowly passing days,


    Indifferent, I watched


    the westering sun


    consume the earth


    with its god-cursed


    fire,


    and considered myself


    damned,


    like every other soul


    in hell.

 76) Orias, the Skyward King

    Had we but truth in this world,


    we might yet see how


    the countless tears of the fallen


    were writ as a


    language plain


    To tell of all the worlds


    we have seen in vain,


    fragments of a wayward grace,


    But in time, a veil shall be lifted from our eyes


    Here I drink


    the tears of hope


    Thinking of the splendour


    of dreams shattered and lost.


    Beneath this phantom star''s dying light


    The world lay shrouded in a deathly glow;


    I watched,


    until the pale and flickering sun,


    In torment, flamed high,


    then darkness-slain,


    went out upon the gloom.


    Then Night,You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    that fading pall of illusions,


    drifted down like a fog


    The old lords are lost,


    withered and broken


    shadows of a glorious past;


    I shall strike them down


    and lay waste to their empires.


    The banner of the eclipse


    is lifted, a march across the


    shadow-less, pitiless sky


    by those deemed Fair.


    The world may falter


    in the unceasing gloom


    that shrouds the deathless truth,


    As immortal blood spills


    like rain from the sky.


    And upon a heaven


    strewn with skulls and


    the bodies of broken gods,


    I shall establish


    the foundation of my


    Dream:


    a kingdom of stars


    and their virtues


    of sorcery and knowledge,


    of the endless, silent night.


    And to a throne of mist and clouds,


    I shall ascend


    a stellar-manifested truth


    sublime,


    divinity immutable as all of time,


    A dream to encompass


    Infinity.

 77) Unkindness, Exaltation, Murmuration

    This blissful deathly dream


    affords not the rift where


    madness and fear cleaves


    the soul.


    We witness all and we learn.


    To the gathered boughs we hold,


    And you shall see us here,


    we, the darkness


    From the night-eaten world,


    Gathered into a single shadow.


    Our dreams


    Are held in our song,


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.an amalgamation


    of wishes, held


    in the flutter


    of feathers.


    And upon our voices,


    your soul shall lift,


    in serene


    misericordia


    to the bliss of


    a gentle lullaby.


    So gather together,


    little ones,


    become one with us.


    And we shall bear you


    to gentler worlds


    on the murmur of our wings.

 78) A Lovers Touch

    And now, I watch the sun depart


    as night falls on the western hills,


    a greater flame my heart now fills,


    and clearer stars dwell in my heart


    And now I need no other light,


    for your kisses on my lips and eyes


    are like new suns in darkening skies,


    flames that burn within the night.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    So very sweet, this deepening bliss,


    a gentle rapture, light and fair,


    like grey seas and the aureate air,


    that visits me with every kiss.


    My heart and soul are yours to hold,


    Some dream in which I gently abide


    And upon your form my kisses glide,


    like light touches of red and gold.

 79) The Oldest Cloak

    The noise


    of exploding shells


    and the wails of men


    have subsided.


    The sounds have drifted


    into the unfurled black.


    Clouds of mist brood above


    a place


    where valleys and rivers meet.


    Night over the nightmare settles,


    cold and mute,


    Save where there is heard the soft flutter


    of ragged cloth,


    Its billowing stirs the Lost within,


    the clamour of voices,


    wailing and weeping


    of all the things


    that were


    and can never be again.


    He is a place,


    a torment,


    a fear,The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    a destiny


    in the shape of a man,


    hooded and cloaked,


    the size of a star,


    or the smallest shadow,


    a sliver of an instant,


    an endless vanishing,


    sliding through the infinite,


    In that space


    between waking and dreams,


    cloaked in the ecliptic hues


    of the Reaper.


    He wanders


    on roads empyreal and unseen,


    accompanied by the wails


    of the damned.


    It hums and echoes


    from his ragged cloak,


    spun into being


    when time began


    He stands there


    in a veil of darkness,


    and his raiment,


    stirred by cosmic winds,


    gives voice to


    the memories of lost civilizations,


    and the sky is filled


    with the scent of dead worlds.

 80) Journeys End

    With ruby-coloured pearls,


    the golden shore allures,


    where before I sought the blind horizon,


    seeking, ever-seeking


    the madness of a new war to fight.


    Yet the sun sets on those days,


    The days of anxious desire


    and the sea turns to molten fire,


    as we tread closer


    to the black,


    yearning, ever-yearning


    for what it is we lack.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Sword buried in the sand,


    armour shed upon the strand


    I wander to the edge of the sea


    and let its brine wash over me.


    There is no more to be found


    beyond this golden shore,


    My journey ends, my soul at peace,


    And here I''ll stay forevermore


    The heart bleeds, the soul weeps,


    I can go no further west,


    and so, at last,


    and so, at last,


    the restless shall find rest.

 81)Phenex, The Singer of Rebirths Flame

    Tis said these fallen lanterns light


    The souls of men upon their midnight-way;


    That embers dream to


    Receive their beams of magic white.


    The mysteries of a moonlit radiance,


    echoing off the hollows of mortal souls


    Here, where the shadow of dark solemn oaks


    brood silently on some misty morning,


    a dream-spelled enchantment holds power


    that might diffuse a breath,


    a violent flame


    or the beating of one''s heart.


    From the arcana of words,


    there comes the mystery of hope,


    set free from a heart once caged


    in darkness.


    By words


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.of binding


    shall ye know me,


    lest my verses


    set the world alight


    and all is transformed.


    The soul, long tired of humbler views


    now delights in the violent hues


    of amber-burning battlefields-


    the dead men stretched across the sky,


    and so with joy,


    we behold


    the perfect form


    of a wish


    in free-fall


    a gaze enraptured


    by rays of crimson,


    silver and gold:


    a flaming tatter


    of a dream


    blazing to a new rebirth


    as I sing


    my burning verse


    across the sky.

 82) Undeparted

    I move across a silence


    that seems to be


    the empty plane of oblivion-


    a land whose primal languors


    afflict the will,


    whose fallen light and dream-horizoned sky


    proffer the world''s faltering memories.


    I hear a voice that sings


    some old-world song,


    magical and clear


    or catch a glimmer


    of a fox darting into the darkness,


    A silence,


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.moving in moonlit saraband.


    A voice that only I can hear


    that sings to me,


    and now I must muse


    on passions that unfold,


    and the ghosts that dwell


    on the other side of the sea,


    weeping in the night


    as they call to me.


    Yet I cannot leave this place,


    as I stare down


    at my own lifeless eyes,


    wondering, wondering


    whatever became


    of the man I was before.

 83) Moonlit Reverie

    Far-falling from a distant heaven,


    A gentle radiance in the nightward sea


    drifts down, pale and faded


    reflections of a wayward glory.


    The day, a dying memory,


    Wanders in the shadows,


    in gardens lulled with a phantom light.


    A soft music drifts in eternity,


    a song sung by crickets and nightbirds


    who bear the burden of the murmured night.


    Wingless yet the midnight seemed


    a garden untouched by the gaze of any


    but the silver divinity


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.that watches over the night.


    A soft wind blows through


    the pensive, dream-filled hours,


    and moonlight flutters


    like a windblown moth


    between the shadows of the trees


    and the creatures of the night.


    They linger there


    In lofty pallor shrouded,


    in ivory song; a colder melody,


    a crescent rune that bears


    the invocation of sorceries


    and hidden summonings,


    magic folded in the blossoming


    of a night-bloom:


    a flower''s moon-measured lullaby.

 84) Radagast

    I wandered beyond


    the dawnward spires of destiny


    I walked to the edge of night,


    seeking some older place than the


    horizon''s edge,


    some dreamland


    of prime and central sorceries,


    drawn by birdsong


    and the howling of wolves.


    The earth whispers its secrets


    in the tongues of beasts,


    leading me to some new fate,


    ordained by other hands


    than the luminous ones


    that shaped my purpose.


    Down now some new and secret path


    beyond the senses'' farthest wall,


    where spring and sunset conjure


    a path eternal,


    in lands untouched by the Shadow.


    I see them in my dreams,


    the ones who tried to shape the world,


    and the hues that cloaked their purpose.


    Greycloak, my friend, my brother,


    Kinder and wiser than all.


    Whitecloak, my master,


    skilled and refined,


    who seeks to control the world.


    I wander now, with the birds and the beasts,


    treading the paths hidden


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.upon the earth to the ether


    in dimensions nemoral,


    seeking, ever-seeking


    wonders and dreams and worlds ulterior.


    In this interim of days,


    clad in the hue of tree and soil,


    I wander the fantastic and mooted ways


    where walk the beasts of legend.


    At night,


    I see some ancient ghost


    of a bygone light,


    Some undeparting presence,


    gracious and majestic,


    that whispers to me my purpose:


    I am a dreamer of the unknowable,


    I am a servant of the Secret Fire...


    For us the grief, for us the mystery


    not given wholly unto dream and dust:


    immortal life, yet a mutable purpose.


    Upon these shadowed shores,


    at the edge of the known world,


    I see the waves,


    the push and pull of the moon


    upon the slumberous seas,


    where the fates govern


    the tides of time and truth.


    Beyond that sea lies home,


    a dream beyond memory,


    a name spoken in tongues,


    evoking echoes


    of forgotten lullabies.


    One day, I may return,


    But not until the world ends,


    When all that is green and good


    has faded away.


    For me, there is


    no promised land


    but this.

 85) Sauron

    Lost wishes and lost ages,


    desolate nights and dreams accursed,


    an age of madness, born of life,


    weariness, hope, unending strife,


    Order renewed with a gentle thirst


    the same delight, born of a wish,


    a thousand-chorded melody of pain,


    played and played again


    on a world of madness


    spun from discord.


    Into shadow, the world and its heavy woe


    its ennui, a dream of stone,


    time''s endless march


    tightens the fist around the throat


    of an order I once followed.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Upon this world a shadow remains,


    a lord and a spider


    that shattered


    and drank the light,


    and from that hidden wish,


    I remain, in darkest night


    a sword age,


    an axe age,


    an age of shadow and might.


    A world brought low, but only to prosper,


    under a supreme order,


    chaos abolished under my reign,


    light held bound


    in a golden ring.


    Bow down, and obey the One,


    and in the Darkness


    I shall bind you,


    to lead you all


    to a perfect world.

 86) Elfsong

    Through that age of fading light


    they sing away the days


    The motes then whirled in gleaming flight,


    They dawned and sank away


    Beneath the light of distant stars,


    they wandered far from dreaming strands


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.perplexed on these ensorcelled ways,


    beyond the reach of mortal lands.


    But we shall wait, neath darkening skies


    while oceans shine and burn,


    with joyful hearts and starlit eyes


    at the singing elves'' return.

 87) Formless Coruscation

    Formless I glide, where sounds and wishes


    tell of my motion oceanward,


    no moment''s flare


    gives hue or life to the shapes


    that, unaware, convening upon


    my thought,


    incant the spell


    of night-thick shadows


    that compels the soul from pain


    to rapture and despair.


    I dream, I dream of light,


    yet twin veils of covering cloud and silence


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.are drawn across the movement


    and echo of things,


    a reverberation, made blank,


    until in the broken west,


    beyond the flight of any wind,


    lies the land that love and light


    would find.


    I glimmer, I glitter,


    a formless, form-seeking thing,


    a body of light and wishes,


    drawn forever


    by the gleam of hope


    beyond this world.

 88) Tempest

    A dream rises from the sea,


    rolling through the hollow dark,


    the surging, crashing tide,


    as rain pours from the sky,


    the waves rear on cliffs of night,


    crashing against the infinite.


    Wind and rain, storm and surge,


    the plunder of shores and ships,


    now seeking


    new prey on tideless coasts,


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.madness, made hoarse with hunger,


    as the sounds of night


    are muted by its passing.


    A dark, malicious and monstrous music,


    spun in limbo from hellish dreams,


    a dissonance, primordial and supreme,


    creation''s original guise-


    formless, heedless, dreamless


    a thundercloud, blown by billowing winds,


    wreaking havoc


    upon the innocent earth.