my muse and i just arrived at sunrise on the very last day of my story.
it's destined to be a long day with many connected scenes, but
nonetheless we are there. (sigh). here are the fruits of this week's
labor, the worn bit of candle that lit the previous night:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
and stillness descended like a blanket
caressing the willows and the glimmering bier,
cooling the cheek of the sleeping princess
consoling the advance of a diffident tear.
as the crickets' itinerant psalm subsided
the burrowing creatures tucked themselves in,
lulled by their mother's intimate whispers
cradled in the harbor abiding in her skin.
elsewhere in the realms of blunted distinction
in the ransacked fissures of a barren vein
a lapsing cathedral sagged on its arches
interred by the folly of immoral gain.
the sulking ogre emerged from a casket
blearily leering with his single crazed eye,
unhinged by a living visitation
disrupting the seclusion of his blood-stained sty.
the spindly Dame poised on a silver thread
her silhouette a nightmare writhing on a blade
enhanced by Chester's smouldering projection
distracting the wrath of the shape shifting shade.
while the glimrin soothed and wooed the wee ones
brooding on lullabies in hopes that they'd settle,
Sleazy squinted and brandished his giggles
attempting to bolster his tenuous mettle.
he couldn't make out what Chester fathomed
in the vibrating coffer confounding his eyes.
the unnerving shadow had addled his reason
scattering senses and shivering thighs.
a clamour rang out from somewhere above them
the stables of terror trotting out their might,
the clanging of anvils and bluff barks of men
an onset of madness assaulting the night.
but the spirals were already forming
the embers imbuing their cerulean hue,
and bounding off with the chest of progeny
Sleazy and the spider were shunted from view.
- Evan Hawthorn, the 7th of January, 2016
