Literature
Waiting for...
Inside a hole,
In shadows darkened with solitude,
I sat a quiet still.
I hear the voices of the mad dead,
Those illustrious art weavers-
An aura swept, so chilled and new,
Flooding membrane into depths.
I look into the void.
Lights.
Green dominates,
Red bursts like flames
Of a high intensity,
Scorch direction.
Life.
Through the wind filled canopies above me,
I see the sky, they are as unclear as my mind.
I peer further out of the earth to see vast hillsides,
A desolate wasteland, windswept,
Void of life barring the sentinels above.
Bare as my existence
A soul still remains.
I bend and break my bondage to the soil,
Brittle, rusting, an