Beautiful imagery.

The Sperg Box

I feel the warmth sucked from my hands

as cold fills up the marrow of my bones

old scars burn like frost-tipped fires

still the chill might sooth the throat

where ripping winds play at tearing skin


slung round the gate are suckling vines

a field in twain by the river’s broad back

where off in the distance figures lay

silent, brooding, hewn of stone

the guardians watch with callous eyes

i wonder if the hands that splayed them

came with such sullen cold-wrapped grace

those ivory sentinels of the way

cordoned by the river’s grace


the inlet’s mouth is caked with rime

the dews have frozen to dead grass

the blanketing of the molten grey

struck shades of Earth about me

yet still above some hope should shine

the Winter-Sun glints ominous tones

a sparkling gem to blind the eye

whose glory knows but does not speak

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