chibiyin

But in these bones that you feel move the weight of a hundred lives a thousand lies sunk to the marrow a beating heart does little good inside those echoes It's mostly the night when pockets of air are perfect when you don't have to think— yet thinking is all you do when the world turns dark and everything sleeps but you and those bones That thing was such a tangled mess but if you work your heart and fingers raw all the knots come out like drawing poison from blood those bones are brittle that heartbeat is shallow With haggard letters we must greet the dawn

The light cast a coolness over everything. It was past dawn, but not yet late in the morning, and the air was pure, clean, and as of yet unsullied by the warmth of the sun. It was a quality only autumn and the mountains held, and it had long been his favourite time of day. The trees had only just started to turn, and created a patchwork of greens, yellows, oranges, and reds through the valley and up the mountainsides. His eldest sons always tried to insist he keep an escort when he left the old stronghold, but he never listened to them. The day he couldn't defend himself, he told them, was the day he was dead. So, he rode alone along the win

When the work of day is done the sun has set and night is come then the hardest time's begun the hours I dream of her The sunlight dancing in her hair the way her fingers showed she cared though her beauty could compare I own, but she was mine But then she turned her back on me and went with him beyond the sea though I know it will not be oh, how I dream of her And when the moon is rising high I'll take my chisel and my eye and carve her likeness from the stones no longer will I live alone Her eyes I'll carve from greenest gem her lips from rubies set therein from rose quartz I will shape her skin I wish for love in vain W

The canyon had been asleep for countless ages. Light never toughed its bottom reaches, the jagged rock floor to which few creatures clung. It had never known night from day, and years passed by without its notice. Rain came seldom, staying on the dusty, dark earth only hours at a time. After a while, the creatures that used to give the canyon some small claim to life vanished. All still, the cracked earth slept. Centuries of dust and wind made up its dreams, with no variations otherwise. It could have gone on like that forever without a care. Then came the upheaval. It started deep. A low vibration, a whisper of a rumble. The canyon did not

Trace along my veins feeling the heartbeat within— the rhythm of love.

Don't yearn after the moon. She is cold and uncaring, and only reflects light given off by others. She has no self-brightness, no illumination from within. In fact, she hides her face regularly—only partially at first, almost a tease or a beckoning for you to look harder at her—then completely. Do not let this fool you, for she uses supposed mystery to try and seduce you, when she is simply hiding her true face from you, when she is only turning her back on you. She returns to show herself again when and only when it is at her convenience. That is why the wolves howl at her—they do not lust for her, for they have long since kn