cotton rise over midnight sky. lost, to the familiar whisper of time forgot. lost, to dream and flame, and a thousand sunsets. lost, to the love i lost in you. Found, in my darkness, forged anew. I collect Spores, Molds, and Fungus. View all posts by nomisyar Originally published…

beyond the edges of this world She rises high again. lifted by silent song; lifted, by our love. and as night’s wonder fades into her light, magic grows tantalizingly in might. illusion fades and the darkness retreats back into dream, and desire.

the gentle caress of your muted voice reflects the perfection of me, wrapped deep within the wonder of you. so i turn to kiss your sky, with the soft-est lips,… trembling, in surety of what could come. and I feel for your touch. and, for me, touching you. so let us…

too long you have waited for adoring eyes to once again adorn you with gifts implicit and immeasurable, and unearned. too long have lips quivered rapturously to breathe, tales of your splendor, and untested grace. high below both star and sun. deep within a boundless dream. you wait alone with…

juking & jiving your damn way through, but stickin’ to the script like you were bred to do. life plays you tight- this ain’t no zone D. but there are so many ways for us to get free. no matter how you twist, turn, or fade away, home waits for you, right now, right here. so, walk your way and remember to play YOUR game, and we promise to welcome you home once again. I collect Spores, Molds, and Fungus. View all posts by nomisyar

each passing beat slips the wisdom of solitude further away, consumed by fear, and hope. lessons painted lovingly or cruelly seared, all fade under the silent passings of nights inumerable. a cold hardness grants succour until Dawn’s golden smile brushes past once again. I collect Spores, Molds, and Fungus. View all posts by nomisyar Originally published at http://thedeprevation.com on 28 November 2022

albion mist clouds my heart. I cannot hear the drums. the might of my fathers washed away in the myth of history. I cannot feel the drums. empty children, wandering without soul, eternally seeking, try to guide me through their hell. they have never heard the sound of the drums. …

home beckons from distant and strange lands. wild places lost to memory, or clouded in dream. but nowhere ever, does he hear his name. I collect Spores, Molds, and Fungus. View all posts by nomisyar Originally published at http://thedeprevation.com on 14 November 2022.

did you smell today’s promise in the waning night air: crisply thin, and growing? did you see the morning sky wink as storks skipped ‘cross the ether into a rising flame? did you taste the delicate pines dripping mist and magic, and memories? did you hear the robins, and tits and crows all laugh with…