intention erased

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame “Yes,” could’ve been a simplistic answer, but the pull of the mountains had been so much brighter, so much sharper, so much more than the plain distinction. It’d been exactly what they craved: dominance and supremacy, an unfolding of land and enigmas, bewitching sights and sounds, something to call home beyond refugee wares and torn-apart inhabitants. It’d been a place to settle, to brood, to seethe, to plan, to plot, and in its place they’d found a sanctum, a sanctuary, a refuge, a place of repose; never once invaded on their soul. Perhaps the corresponding grin, the genuine reverence in regards to the created landscape before him, would say enough. But he didn’t cease there, the gilded palms glowing once more, connecting back to things he’d lost along the way – to a world he couldn’t have again, but fondly express through memories, through artifacts. “We had a lake that never froze,” and therein he placed the watery substance, in the deep valley. “Hot springs,” and he concocted them off to the side, below cliffs and caves. “And a horizon that displayed colors at night.” And therein, he strived to paint the borealis as best he could; incapable of mustering its regal entirety – but varnished and lacquering it with the vivid hues all the same: streaks of green, of blue, of red, of pink, of purple, as they blended together across midnight skies. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace