ravynsky

i slept for four and twenty thousand years when i awoke, the world had turned to dust when i awoke, the world had loved and moved on and all this time, the undying these few bright points wavering some distant seashore— some quicksilver sea time is an unruly tyrant that every legacy is undone, that every stronghold is torn asunder here at the end: a horizon of white ash and bone and ice that sublimates into vapour and i am brought to the ground, atrophied and anemic my fragile body, skin and blood and the anguish which passeth all understanding, the keening cry of my innermost, for all things lost—not things, but souls and s