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maggie pieby ~bagnio
wiggin' outby ~bagnio
in memoriamtonight the dreams come alive, flowing freely from fingers, and windswept in hair. bitter, cold, and distant. he looks yet does not see and we rise, up towards an everlasting sanctuary, far from mortal eyes- with the lithosphere left far behind. and to himself he thinks: Oh- this is but a dream.in memoriam
the stones are cold beneath his feet, jutting up through thick soles, and he aches but does not complain. he hurts, he wails, and an echoing scream for help returns to sender. dark, cold, and alone - he waits, and does not complain. he nestles down on the cobble, divets forming along his side. the cold, the dark, the distance takes him. h
by ~bagnio
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