(no subject)

[grauwulf]

Seven hundred miles from home, every move miles more. Leagues ran with the devil at the heels. Safety bound in harms hands running from devils meters by the minute. Collection of hats scattered about the winds, another coat rack and a moment of peace. Following the stars for guidance, finding their emissions to be lamppost light. Has the home been found, does it live in our hearts, on our backs day to day clawing for another banana. Perhaps there will come a night when we will all look up to familiar ceilings. May it come to pass that the skyward barriers we remember so fondly will cease to burn away, letting in the darkness, twilight to dawn. What use are wings when there is nowhere left to fly. Look up wayfarer, crane your necks to the heavens. There is no where left to fail, no depth further to fall. Spread your wings. Twitch the bloody stumps of grace We are all gods. Damn you, damned me to my hell. Peace has been found. It’s just a mile away.