A mist lies low in the valley of my chest:
A flimsy veil o'er pain – dark grey monolith
That cannot be moved. The shifting of plates
Leaves its mark on the earth.
It cannot be reversed.
But I still know this land. The shifting of plates
Does not touch sun or star – nor every sign-post tree,
And mist baffles sight alone; vision is another thing entirely.
I felt hate for you, and now all I feel is tired.
chapter 2 the foil The days passed with the monotonous, but pleasant, hum of repetitious manual labor, with products to show for it. Jilyan began to suspect that during her cushiony childhood, she had missed out. When she caught her reflection in the mirror pane in the anteroom of the
Thank you for lighting the fire underneath me to get started, Kelsey. :) prologue He looked from over the edge of the railing, what he had once jokingly called “the Balustrade.” The wood beneath his hand was ragged. The ground on which his eyes fell was ragged. For a moment -
A momentary slice of sun cleaves the shadows of a misty dawn -- Spotlit, splendid stands a single home upon a gilded hill. I envy her, although I cannot reason why, And think she envies me the very spot from which I spy.