Scythes in the field at harvest,
sweet with rain fallen down down down...
Waves rolling under iron-forged skies,
clouds fighting to hold back the sun...
There’s no way through...
Separated from all but itself,
a mind lashes out against the void...
smiles wide where light should be fading
all around the edges, morphing...
Imprints of the last to leave
framed in the window overlooking nightfall.
Broken arches under crumbling towers
and the return of saplings taken root in memory...
In halls of white we walk
imprisoned here by the gaze of dead faces...
Listen to the stories that the walls tell
in knocks and whispers out of hidden places
telltale signs of life in the midst of a storm...
There’s noise coming from down the hall
And the walls seem like they’re breathing
A tired routine has brought me to this place
To sit for a while with evil and hear its thoughts...
We descended upon the city of secret lights
With a hunger for the world in our hearts
Chasing the taste of a dream we once had
For a moment passing through catatonia to new sight...
Hold tight the paper hand
Follow the scent of dust and madness into the past
These black tunnels beneath the world
Where evil whispers it’s secrets.
Fly the way of windstorms
Howl at the gate, passage through the wall
Voice of death calling out ‘enter’
And no dream of disobedience will come.
Living behind glass, or etched into its surface
Clouds heavy with rain roll across a sky streaked with pink