In the willows, voices stray.
Dreams are when I hear them.
Speaking disasters in vibrant cadences.
Making time with tipping wine glasses.
Darkness, Depth, Where the flames from candles burn away.
Imagination is my castle upon a hill.
Though quickly walls can crumble down.
And I am left to walk with only stolen souls.
drowning slowly in their soul taker's last words;
Life is not kind to those with the brightest glow