It's taken a lifetime to lose my way
All the wasted time on my hands turns to sand
The fire spectacle ate away at the moss Chulane flung, devouring and consuming in one fell swoop, the smoke continuing to curl and coil its way towards the sky. The Sword had fallen silent in the expanse of thoughts on gods, on the whirl of a mind too far gone by sickness to do or say much of anything now – not favored, not worth the time or energy to cosmic beings. It’d always been that way, from land to land, from sea to sea, from world to world. Which was why he’d made his own way, carved his paths on blades and knives, on destruction and mayhem. Maybe he didn’t need them. Maybe he didn’t want them. Maybe he never really knew what was going on, and merely fended for himself, and for those he cared for (the list was growing shorter and shorter these days), as best he could.
Maybe they were just little specks of dust, never quite a part of the same whole.
Maybe it didn’t matter, because he’d carry on, forging, and beholden to naught but the things that mattered to a monolith.
He dimmed the flames, permitted them to recede, until they were little specks of embers, and the horizon beyond was ignited by stars, offerings partaken into the unknown.
{FIN}
Maybe they were just little specks of dust, never quite a part of the same whole.
Maybe it didn’t matter, because he’d carry on, forging, and beholden to naught but the things that mattered to a monolith.
He dimmed the flames, permitted them to recede, until they were little specks of embers, and the horizon beyond was ignited by stars, offerings partaken into the unknown.
{FIN}
I'm fine in the fire
I feed on the friction
