Ecliptic transition of memories,
seem to fade into speckled bits of dust.
And the haunting still continues,
yet no one has ever seen the ghost.
Hit myself with reflections,
like a ghastly, grieving hand.
And the black-smoke demons lure,
yet no one has ever heard their laughter.
be the circles in which I run,
become my false wilderness.
For my animal is slowly dying
and its spirit remembers the sky.
- Line Svendsen
@Unge Lovende Forfatteres