The 26th
Tranquil are the waters below the moon. How they shift under the seeing light, sensing the break in spoken words.
Yet you still run.
The Conduit that must not be drawn, else it asks a sacrifice you cannot mourn. Beneath waits a darkness unseen,
yet you still run.
How the ink remains unheard, to die across the crystals that shimmer not but an awaiting light that which eyes cannot pry. How they tease the wandering.
Of course you still run.
The still pool that bleeds
and the thought that carved,
threads never free
from the void that starved.
Yet I still run.
