The Apparition of the RiverMist.
Silken and ghastly.
Like a bed of mysticism.
Like opium dreams.
Heavy like darkness.
Ascension of souls.
An endless strife.
Float to the shore.
Like a strain
A resounding phage.
Ethereal yet solid.
In this finality.
Naught shall remain.
But a hollow fragment.
Fruitless and bleeding.
Of never ending horror.
Inside of you.
Blood in amok.
A frenzy of paranoia.
This is where you end.
By by presence.
ReminisceRemember your wasted youth.Reminisce3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The times of before.
When your feet bathed in the cold stream.
When your hair was caressed by the zephyrs.
Remember your never returning youth.
The times of joy.
When myth and tale were reality.
When mortality and death were lies.
The things we took for granted, now we weep for them.
The things we lost in the fire, now we search for them.
Time goes by like the last glimmer of hope on our deathbed.
And endless wailing over the impending never ending sleep.
In our last breaths, remember the days of before, when we could not die.
When the sun kissed our cheek and the birds sang their aubades for us.
The wind and forest and their enchanting minuet.
The clouds and rain and their eternal bond.
The snow and ice and their endless creations.
Now, the wind has seceded, the woods deforested.
Cloudless and only mental rain.
Snow and ice melted away like our memories.
Now time has come to take the curtains down.
Lay rest to this philistine