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Backs to the forest, a thousand dreams wither and fade.
Memories come to pass. The rains like cold arrows striking dust,
a storm at the temples crescent, looming black taint and thunder.

Torrential rain the only escape, to the dying forest
The greens turning grey, its change is temporary. Bleeding woodland,
bodies pinned and staked. No plausibility is needed to justify the end.
The faces, animated in the rain. Dull and empty,
turned blind by the eyes of providence.

Melting day into night, blocking out the sun. The vessel to
end all life descends.

Solitude, the light at the end. In caves older than time,
one may begin to reflect. Kept within its shade by the rain.


Etchings of what was and what might have been.
Creating an image for the eyes. Unaware of their gaze.
The relic upon the wrist, strapped to your heart.

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