catalogued pages of cinder each one glows slightly and crackles in the dark
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the thunder rolled over the canvas carving new veins of ash of lightning
as the fog clears drowned phantoms emerge from the reflection
the hourglass cracks and the sand escapes as tendrils of silver moths
to the queen of crimson tongue the moon begs: let me be your sword
forests choking with gold and heroes born with swords too soft to save
the dragon speaks fire into glass reshaping worlds that do not wish to exist
from the bones of giant forests sprout and in ribcages winged gods nest
storms sewn into the river even the sun owes us blood
kings beggars and shadows crave for the dagger that drinks from the well of time
elancharan gunasekaran 