note #171

dead bones buried dreaming sleep
and i wander slowly on light feet
ere the day that they should ever wake
and twisting, turning, tempting speak
of death and dreams and the fate they reaped
here to find the solace that they eke
before the ancient dead should stir to make
protest at the iron gates
here were squandered early years
in tests of strength and bloody tears
where the bishop fathered his only son
who fell beneath the wild hunt's run
his ghost, now creeping, comes my way
a pact to make, i must not stray
he bobs and weaves, moans and howls
all coming from his slackened jowls
the bones reach up, pull me astray
the quiet dead warn away.

note #170

carved into your skin,
you'll surely fit in,
with all of your sins.

note #169

once i was a tree, and you sat in the shade under me.
once i was a bird, and it was my song you heard.
once i was a fire, and you sought to stoke me higher.
once i was a man, without love in my plans.
but once you captured me, my heart was set light and free.

note #168

i stood above the train and waited, watching it snake never-ending and seemingly without motion. the slate sky felt heavy as the city rose behind me. alone i waited.

this is a truth.

note #167

the detail in something so small is amazing. the craftsmanship and symmetry expressed in lines crisp to this day bring life to another time far removed from this modern world.

note #166

your hero is only as good as their villain.

note #165

such beautiful things carved from stone, that only the simplest of painted augmentation is needed to create the illusion of life.