Memories are often unkind to me
and Time after all time when time has the time, that's also unkind.

The bowmen on Olympus target us, fire their arrows through the mists of our morning when the shadows sleep still on the pale ground, I rise until the red scent of poppies fills my senses with fear, with fear comes that silence, come closer my dear, 'all the better to see you'

Wings that once flew lay shredded, embedded in my eyes are the commissions of days,
nothing stays the same except the same and the same's not the same as it was.
Icicles drip their tentacles slowly onto my cheeks,
he who seeks must be prepared for the worst.

I am cursed
I am cursed by the one breasted Amazon, who with crossfire looks shoots hooks of longing into my heart.

The silence is where the fears meet the shadow that lay in the mists on the pale ground, no sound.

Time with its memory is no friend and could never be, my back's to the wall now but it could have been different,
don't ask how,
I just know.