┋Whether I climb or fall down the stairs
Success and failure, they come in pairs.
Nightdreams, and my daymares
Pay the piper, and split hairs
I may put on airs, and put on wares
The truth, my chest
My back to theirs.┋
┋The legends speak of these spirits, these apparitions, accompanied by mythical creatures, deep within the forests. It’s the places where people go to never come out of, the remote parts where light makes its presence known once every century. And when they come, they come without a head – for to have a brain is to be human, and these spirits, they’re nothing but human. They are the forest made in shape.┋
┋I sit against this concrete, stare plastered like a Pollock painting on the opposite wall, replaying foggy scenes that have long gave their last breath. I seemingly see, like a seething seer, seeking to seep into the seeds of truth, every detail through the clouds of time.┋
┋Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.┋
┋He was only a first year, meek, weak, that’s what they had been saying. But when the monsters attacked, he knew he couldn’t cower. Hearing the screaming, his friends and colleagues picked off one by one, falling, the young little first year dashed through the crowds, to the front lines. He may not know much, he thought, but he was powerful, and he wouldn’t allow one more soul to die that night.┋