Iceveldt II

airship (1)

We broke the skies and the debris broke the mountains
showering ice and sleet and frosted mist down into the valleys
and waters
the view for miles a swirl of eye stinging vapor
hanging like a boiling cauldrons wreath
The fortunate few took to the air and looked back one last time in anguish
but the tumult left no time to linger
as the living and the soon dead sank out of sight
leaving only imprints sealed in stone
and the ancient ones raised such a song of lament
that it echoes still through the cliffs
for we all knew who was responsible
we knew who broke the sky
and that this was only a brief respite before the final sundering
The cold mounts creeping inch by inch across the few places where warmth and life and greenness gather
soon even the echo of the laments will end
smothered by the blankets of frost
or worse
taken by the Dread Ones who
soulless and lifeless
rose from the agony of our careless apocalypse
to reign in this alien landscape
Deep thoughts on so fair a morning
as I sail past

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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