James Doyle

The breaking of a stolen sun, Which withers under light undone: Thine eyes glare upon my poor heart, A final flare to rend apart. Yet the priest is left unguided, So thy wrath has not subsided, But armies have not marched to war, Weakness grips them, and nothing more. What is to come has come to pass, Unknown horrors revealed at last. The dead earth is met with silence, For what is left lacks thy guidance. Thus we meet our final hours, And pick clean the fields of flowers. What final slumber...

Asleep amidst the waving reef, A gleaming figure sinks in grief. Below, abyssal maw yawns wide, Of streaks of light wholly denied. A jolt stirs currents in the deep: The figure wakes from quiet sleep. With darkened eyes of fading light, They sink into eternal night. Then shadow rushes far above, The fins push them in gentle shove. A beast so large to crush their skull, Consoles instead as sad eyes dull. Despite the darkness closing in, They feel a sense of warmth within, As one last bubble...

A calm and winding river. The surface, nearly still. A boat gliding across the water. Nothing moves until, At last, something stirs! But ripples fade in fog, For in this quiet land of stasis, nothing moves at all. Broken dreams slip off the banks, regrets churn in the deep. The still, flat water stays unbroken, as the river sleeps. Perhaps in ancient, brighter times, the river roared with might, But now only the passing boats fill this gloomy sight. The mist clouds sight and mind alike, the...