the dark gods we thought extinct sleep beneath the city grey their lucid dreams driving hollow shells of flesh into madness and shaping the ways of cruelty
too many names buried in the forest now those same names have found a home in the concrete that invades their sacred space
autumn dawn a tide of forgetting washes over us a quiet reset that we hollow things never really talk about
pilgrims flee at the sight of the saint of scars as he unthreads his wound and bestows unimaginable pain upon those who would worship him even the slightest
grey skies darken a little more as lightning annontates the ritual of the coming storm
where the bloom warden patrols soil trembles with raging growth and the seeds of the cosmos obey her verdant command
the heavens feel lighter today clouds bountiful and abound the songs of winged gods heal the wounded world
last words of someone close a leaf falls
all the way to kingdom come blue grass banjo riff on repeat
speak to the roots and autumn flowers spit fire
elancharan gunasekaran 