#fen
A pale light
wanders low through the breathless still of night
across fen,
forgotten track;
a wavering spark,
bog-born black,
never held, never kept.
No honest flame
mind in debt
but a will that troubles the dark:
a lonely shade
insight of heart
with no kin,
a sly thing with a crooked spark,
or the small, unquiet dead made bright
to linger at the rim of night.
Follow and it slips aside,
warm as want, then cold as pride,
till the path unlearns your name
and the ground folds you from memory
shame.
Apr 15
Apr 15, 2026 at 7:41 AM UTC
You will know, you'll feel the change,
That calls on parts of you most strange,
And through the wooded halls, you'll pass,
To gather for Its ancient mass.
The fallen towers' decaying bark,
Will harbor haunts of growing dark,
The slime will sweat, the crawlers teem,
You will not wake, this is no dream.
Descending into rotting cold,
You'll hear Its voices, deep and old,
And when their song has chilled your bone,
You'll know that you are not alone.
The path will dim and fall to end,
The soil below, itself shall rend,
The wyrm within shall rise without,
With blackened fur and horned snout.
And surely as the lichens gnaw,
It opens up its snarling maw,
The void beyond the smiling tooth,
Revealing long-forgotten truth.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 12:32 AM UTC