Sometimes, the children who have gone underground, the chance orphans who choose spelunk or burrow or blackest pitch out of necessity and survival instinct, leave behind tangible remnants of their former lives, sacrificed to sights and gods unseen by morally … Continue reading
A siren’s coin of slivered light beading the tunnel’s darkened maw; a long night’s journey into day fulfills the promise of a fabled arc.
Fasting on remedial prayers, hunger flinting the strike of peerless light at tunnel’s end.
Light at tunnel’s end, or, tunnel vision hemmed-in? Religion’s track record.
I for an I, the faltering trade-in of an egotist contracting tunnels at the expense of light’s vented kiss.
Consider the mole, a small important god, unfettered by dreams of flight or fugitive arcs, gathering briskly the dark into its labor, leveling a dig to assume no chances or saviors
Forsaken angel seeking Mortal reprieve– serious applicants only.
