NORTHERNLIGHT
The Silent Knight of which our fright has taken form, the crackling popsicles of daylight, begging for salvation, turns of slashed seagulls, weeding out the sharp sears, my angled sight caught flack by the screaming light, a bright nuisance of crystals, aura forms at the foot of hemispheres, fright of mishandled doorways, our past demeanours brought and locked in the tiny cinders of cold blue lies, and when I look up all I see is the last hazeled dawn drawing blood and shearing scythes with their tips bloodsworn, dirty gloves, the green glowing with such ferocity, the stance in which they seek with glaring feet, it’s cold in here, again and again, our words cut open, our stars dead in the Knight of knights, shifting, plundering, abyssal warmth, the fears coarse through throats and swallow the suffocating chunks, no breath to breathe, no room to speak, the door with four keys, shivering, meekly wild, and when it opens there’ll be time still, as our dreams come to pass, as our trees wallow with past, golden wisps chilled on soured rocks, the NORTHERNLIGHT, the abyss that falls from the sky, the birth of crawling dread that feeds us still, bells and crowbars, shedded skins and raw flesh, the meat on our bones, unsatiated, sat and filled with tears of endless twilight, our shapes shifting as our eyes meet the pantheon of hollow crests, silver shackles, bound by crest, the comet, red with blue, ablaze with oceans and steaming valleys, the fish that we are and become when bounded with the soil and the sea that takes us when our spirit wanes, the North where Light remains, and blights our world with passing souls, up North, when Light becomes all.