chaos calls itself wisdom when no one listens a tower of books burns

halls of fractured mirrors each reflection more treacherous than the last

in a grim attempt at chaos warcries echo across wildflower fields

colours defy the cosmic spectrum of darkness

shapes never meant for the light petals speak in embers and starfire

on streets paved with tongues you are either shadow or dead

hands become a labyrinth as bones sing in worship of winter’s coming