Icarus's blog: "Just South of Blue."

Low.
Barricaded.
Buried.

A place where nothing grows.
Nothing changes.
No magick metamorphose
No flickering ember of hope clasped desperately to a naive hero's chest.
Whispering "please" rather than "no".

No miracles.
No gods.
No more.

Dust dancing in the meek shafts of light.
A dry damp.
A linger of chores, and once beloved pet projects.

The crumbling walls.
The mildewy rafters.
The age.
The crumble.
The golden clarity of ignorance.

From which I could emerge
from the same old thresholds anew.
Unafraid.
Whole.




































I won't.