Consumed by darkness
Three worlds was never seen
Despair ruled their lives
For hope had never been
Until one day,
The sun took pity,
On the people of the worlds of three.
And so the veil of shadows dissipated
The people once again roamed free
In a cave lay hidden
The secrets of old
Our life drawn from its roots
And our being grown from its trunks
We are the mystics of nature
Descendants of a singular emotion
Stored deep within the mold
But unity has embraced us
We no longer need to follow its creed
yet our hatred will never vain
As we grow into the hold
In the deepest chasms
At the highest peak
Where neither here nor there
Up or down
I shall seek
Step by step he climbed the stone stairs that reached towards the heavens; blocks forged by an unknown maker – an unknown civilization – in the Latin American jungle. Taking a breath to rest, James marveled at the precision the blocks had been placed. Without cement, or anything else to bind the structure together, they have managed to build something to stand the test of time. It was truly doing more with less; creativity fueled by limitation.
How they were able to build such magnificent structures with simple stone tools was simply baffling. As he stroke the stone blocks that had turned green after centuries of neglect, James felt the sun’s warming rays on his neck as it rose above the trees.
It was another day, another opportunity to unearth the mysterious of this place. For so many years they’d believed the Aztecs and the Mayans were the creators of the pyramids, when in reality, there was another people predating them both – the architects of the entire Mesoamerican world.
Gates of fire
In the midst of night
Thorns of anguish
Pierced through the acolyte
Powered through fear
Through pain
His goal almost within reach
I will meet you my lord
In your molten reign
Crescent light shine upon me
Your way-ford light a reminder,
of times ahead
Your command the essence of my being
Tell me what needs to be done and I shall perform
Oh, crescent light,
Of darkness
And mischief
Featured image drawn by ChrisCold
I am darkness
The one who fell through time
Pushed aside by the maker
My lance a souvenir
My wings a reminder
My horns a promise
Featured image drawn by ChrisCold
The darkness, all engulfing. The silence – thought to be everlasting – penetrated by a continuous thumping. The muffled noise drew nearer as the walls of limestone slowly cracked until it crumbled into bits. Wind gushed inside, drawing fresh air into a surrounding that had laid dormant and stale for untold millennia. From the opening, a man appeared. Wrapped with a piece of cloth around his mouth and his hair turned yellow by the dust, his flashlight scanned the interior, revealing only more darkness in its depths. Making an effort to remove the rubble from his path, two more people appeared; one a man, the other a woman. The woman, named Olga, clutched her husband’s arm, who was named Ivan, both grinning excitedly as they entered.
“Amazing, professor!” Ivan said. “You were right all along.”
The professor, having gone deeper into the darkness, ignored Ivan’s remark. Unconcerned with their approval, the professor just stared into the nothingness.
I was right… I was right… he repeated in his head.
The Horrors of Writing 