Only the Moon Remembers by Appparition, literature
Literature
Only the Moon Remembers
The mists gleam with an iridescent blue.
But they pull away from me as I walk
along cobblestone paths, footsteps oppressed.
The forest takes on a spectral facade.
A sound from within the foliage,
interrupts my silent, cold amble.
But goes ignored, like the breath of a sleeper.
Resuming my stroll through the moonlit woods,
I find myself gazing up at the sky,
as I contemplate epochs long past.
Unheard, a call from the grave, echoes behind.
A grey cloaked figure, waiting in the haze,
with eyes of burning coal, that look through me.
Open to an age, submersed in forever night.
The Cycle begins at the rise of sun,
ending during the descent of the moon.
The dragon that consumes its barbed tail,
the sands of time, and wheel forever turning.
Unconscious is the flow, ascension.
Mindless is the resistance to the wheel.
But in vain, your useless endeavor ends.
It is the sand that slips through your fingers.
Nothing lies behind, but these pale memories.
What exactly is the meaning of this?
You have made life a thief and murderer.
You let the weak be denied and fall behind.
A Question buried in the cold sands
and a thousand Answers we left below.
I'd have to look up to see the bottom.
How have I fallen so far, yet have so far to go?
This will end here, my heart holds no repent.
Ebony clouds on the horizon stare back at a sickly smile.
I am the wind that has no master.
Your violent lights shake the very air around me.
Lightning impacts the earth beneath my feet.
But still I stand, spear at hand.
God of the Tempest,
I will never fall to your gales and rain.
I will never be your slave.
You and I are One and the same,
a Positive and Negative charge on the same particle.
Even if you crush the world beneath your Kingdom,
You can never break my spirit,
and you can never tak
The mists gleam with the ambient light of the moon and stars.
But they pull away from me as I walk down these cobblestone paths.
The surrounding forest takes on a spectral appearance in the haze.
A sound from within foliage interrupts my amble,
most likely a small rodent or cat.
Resuming my stroll through woods,
I find myself whistling to a tone by Iron Maiden.
Taking the time to reflect upon myself, as the sky draws my gaze.
A faint whisper escapes into the cool night air.
I turn around, but no one's there.
There's no such thing as ghosts.
Another whisper cuts through the air, sending chills down my spine.
I held my breath at w
All that Was, Will Never Be by Appparition, literature
Literature
All that Was, Will Never Be
I remember it as if from a dream.
Pelicans scatter under a vast crimson sky.
Oceans shifting to red as the lands pull away.
I pick up the sand,
but it slips through my fingers.
Footprints washed away forevermore.
I close my eyes and I see what's right in front of me.
No time to say goodbye, as the dunes shift to scarlet
Falling into an illusion, I can see what once was.
It's a deception.
So time passed.
No sounds to be heard,
As the garnet night grasps our world.
The soil sleeps beneath a veil of snow and ash
Specks of white and black fall through dim light
As I wander across fields of ivory and ebony
The ground disregards my foot's print
An old willow painted in dreary colors looms solemnly above me
I reach out to feel the leaves
But they wither before my touch
In these dreams of snow and ash
I watch these lands through spectral eyes
The lands of evanescent lights
A lake sits patiently under clouds of fog and smoke
I crouch down to sink my hand into the cold water
But it freezes before my fingers
In these dreams of quartz and obsidian
Dreams of doves and ravens
The night descends upon