"Winds and storms
embrace us now
lay waste the light of day.
Open gates to darker lands
we spread our wings and fly,
away."
Dystopia.
Asphyxiating.
in silk sheets.
Rousing the ocean's wrath
the staid silent storm
vomiting concrete waves
quenching the beacons and
tearing down the spires.
+--+
Gaius awake, end
Lemurian dreams.
in dead of night..
Dead silence.
His loggia no longer bathed in the
beloved glimmer of city lights
and sweet serenade of busy streets.
Only him.
"... and he beheld the ruins
of an empire torn apart.
Yet no grief nor rage did bind him.
Just silent and bewildered
by the emptiness..."
And the canals flooded
with tar, fire and ruin.
The lone boatman, a faun, a faux
hair more grey than a winter's dream,
with rock coal eyes gleaming in the pyre
of plague, rot and devastation.
Paddling , tranquilly
through the gates.
Leaving all.
Leaving nothing.
+--+
A turn.
from his door,
light breaks, a breach,
of mist, of fate.
Curling like wound serpents
along the grooves of oak floor boards.
as even their familiar creaks and groans
abandoned him for decay.
et tu Brute...?
"It is time, after miracles
and I am it's prophet.
I have not come to cure
but to bear witness of decease."
The emperor is dead.
Long live the emperor.
+--+
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