Lore, Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story, Weekend

Stories.

The world tells its stories in ways unheard.

Drowned out by words of others, what is declared as inspirational or that which is to be upheld. Smothered by nonsense by those who would seek to undermine the ages, tradition and the silent stories told by the elements.

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Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story, Weekend

Emerging in winter.

It had been a long night by the fire, by the embers. In the shell of a once grand home made of thick stone, pride and resillience, that’s where I lay. A temporary roof and door afixed to such a structure worked as a wonder, so long as one need not look upon it.

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Lore, Poem, Scenic, Short story

The fire tree.

We’ve all been at the precipace of nothing. Though few know it. Fewer still have walked away from viewing the horrors of nothing and all that truly entails, only to stand tall, a fire behind the eyes lit, growing stronger still ’til fate sees it extinguished.

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