Elegy. A poem.

Where do I walk
Now the fields are burned
And ash rises high in the sky
The sun a red blur behind mottled clouds
Each ray a spotlight on misery
The bodies of the dead
Charred and blackened
Breaking beneath my feet
Whispering as they crumble
The killing fields where once we walked as one
Now the battle’s done
No victors here
No spoils of war
Just black fields of broken hearts
And dust to dust
A requiem for our shared defeat
In the aftermath, none have won
In the new world your will is done
And I walk alone
Eternally broken

Drifter. A short tale.

I am shapeless, without form or feature. I float in the ether between worlds, a wisp of aimless consciousness, searching for convention. Twisting, turning, the eddies of astral winds cycling like water down an infinite drain. Drifting in and out of reality, an incorporeal whisper.

I sense a gateway, hovering above me, yet below. I reach with fingers of mist-like curlicues, wondering if there is depth beyond the vision. I look through into a vast horizon of potentiality. But the way is just out of reach, tauntingly distant and seemingly insubstantial.

I drift on, the astral breeze pushing and pulling me away from here and there. Perhaps another day…

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