Sunday, February 22, 2015

quiet underneath, they rage

We wait under the floorboards, silent and grim.

We used to dance under the sun and sup beneath the stars before the giants came. We use to be free and happy beneath the great blue sky.

They sunder the earth with their great feet, wrapped in the hardened skin of dead animals. They declared war on the trees and are winning with iron teeth. They cut into the ground and plant strange seeds from foreign climes.

Worst of all, they have built this strange temple and blocked off the sky. We have whispered in their dreams, but they do not heed us. We have left them subtle clues and potent wardings. Do they expect us to show ourselves directly?

Tonight, when the moon is high and right in the sky, we will sally forth. We will sing down the walls and call forth the thorns. We will water the brown grass with their strange red blood.

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