thatlibraryguy

Our time has come again, not to rule but to serve. To be the salvation of this infant world. To rise from the ashes in which we have slumbered and emerge once more as gods. We will rend the sky and tear down these invaders from the heavens. They shall not lay claim to the world which we wrought and ruled. We may die this day, my brethren, but we shall not be forgotten. For man shall see one last time the gods of old. Come now, brothers! Come, sisters! Release your servants of old! Wake the leviathan, the behemoth, the kraken! Unblock the gates of Hades and turn out the halls of Valhalla! Free the titans and the giants! Let them come. Let th

Sometimes all we’re left with is the ashes Smoky flakes of yesterday’s mistakes And the black of our regretful hearts And if on those days I close my eyes I can feel falling petals (it’s the ash as it settles) And the red is of my veins run dry.

I remember the scars that crisscrossed your back. Your cerulean eyes, gazing into the starry night. We had a strange kind of love. We never shared a bed, or embraced, or took vows. But nevertheless I loved you, and I think that in your own way you loved me. You used to sing, but only when you thought no one was watching. You never let me look at your scars for long, until the last day we spent together. At the time, I didn’t understand why you let me sketch you. You’d never bared yourself to me before, let alone to sketch you. You were never really mine- but you did your best to share yourself with me. Why me, I’ll neve

The fog caresses the earth and stone, climbing the pines to gray skies above. Waves charge the shore: crashing on the rocks, hissing in retreat. The sun climbs from his bed of clouds mid-morn, in due course his rays find their way to the Monarchs; where they rest upon the trees like cascades of fire: whispering and glittering. This is the Pacific Grove.