Pnakotic Dreams
Hanging from these brambled bows, I contemplate my fall. Would I ever hit the ground, Or ever reach the wall? A shroud of mist, Will always persist, Within these hallowed halls. And what am I? Just passing by. Just waiting for the call.
What is my life to yours? What is his to mine? What is even relevant, When beheld to space and time? Ancient eons left behind, to all worlds apart from mine















