White death descends
Storms break souls
This is only a beginning
What was warned begins
Worlds ending
Stuck in a mythic past
They decry for justice
What justice is to be had?
When the world breaks
storm
What wakes in the endless expanse
Hush of cold
Each crackling step
Ice breaking
Too cold to think
Too cold….
Storm calls
Maelstrom reaches for the earth
Hungry
It hunts
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Sorrow is a language of love
The sky weeps for the passing of beauty
Ripped from this world by terror
Asleep in the belief of safety
Content
But waking in pain
In fear
Looking into the face of one’s god
Pleading for succor
But there are limits on us all
And so we weep
And the brothers who hunt the land eternal
Rage as sight is blurred and torn from us
Stand vigil in the windswept madness
Of a pain
Neverending
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Too close is not close enough
Thunder crashes down
Herald of the torrent
Wash me away
As long as it’s to you
The agony of without
Tearing
Thread by thread
One more failed attempt
To get to you
One more broken footprint
Bruised
Aching
And resolute
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Riven Earth 3.1
Please visit the Site the Hear the Audio
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A boil of sky
Clouds like cut glass
Jut upwards past blue
To a star drenched sky
White and gray flotillas
And oddity
Black spike clouds
Stillness of the air
Pent up breathe
The sense of waiting
Tripwire minutes
Even birds dare not sing
And minute trill quickly silenced
When found no else that dare answer
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You are the storm, you say?
You speak of yourself as a storm. As if to warn me away. And in doing so, fail utterly, if that be your goal.
I am He who walks between. I speak with the embodiments of the elements, I cavort and hold friendship with those of air.
I follow the path of a lord of Storm, of night, of Winter.
You speak to me of your storm and I think, “Perfection.” Be you a storm. Strike wind and in fierceness know, in me you are home.
Should you care to make a place with me. Storms are not to be feared but loved. Shouted in joy. And should they calm, spoken soft words to and made ready for when next they stir.
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It’s springtime again
Yup, I hate spring. It is the low point of my year. The lowest point of any year. Winter solstice is bad enough. At least there winter is at the height of its powers. Spring equinox and its all downhill. 3 months of low ebb. I quote the great man when I say “Buggerit, millennium hand and shrimp!”
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Ozone layer
Last rays of light, falling tears in a glorious gray sky
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Shaman’s Fury
storm rages
wind sweeps
lightning growls
rain pounds
rip me open
pour in your fury
stand as archetype
as avatar
deep within
without mercy
break the world
without you there is only end
