The dark sounds of the aether
rain from without upon me
but, I think, how can they?
For the aether has no sound.
It must be my speaker vibrating.
But my complex soul
more so than any simple wave
is shaken corewise
and threshed of all calm

Where they used to cite the iliad,
the oddysey and the comedy,
or mahler or wagner, they were right.
But I, with equal right,
cite Skyrim, for holding my hand
and guiding me through the mess of life.
Each moment planned, as it were.
But iterations of an artwork.
And shining with a snowy light.

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Send your life out in multiple directions like a galaxy shedding stars. Always come back to hope and try to thrive. All posts, (poems, stories, essays, etc.) here are composed by my hand, unless noted otherwise. Please ask if you'd like to use one.

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