Dead Winter Days

There lies a beauty behind forbidden wooden doors. A beauty so rare and pure, it would make human eyes bleed and burn.... . ...She killed herself in the fall....

Falling Snow

The water pours its embracing arms around the stone. Decay drips from the unquiet void where the ice forms, where life ends. The stone is by the crimson flood, swallowed.

Fire Above, Ice Below

The woeful silence and wind's reflection. Of your body's pale ode, an icy fortress of blood and ages. Sky fire above, ice below the hearth. Fall away from me to that citadel at the end of time.

Hallways Of Enchanted Ebony

Kiss me coldly and drain this life from my lips. Let the cold blood flow on it's own.... Kiss me coldly and fall away from the soul. Long forgotten....

I Am The Wooden Doors

When all is withered and torn. And all has perished and fallen. These great wooden doors shall remain closed. . .. . When the heart is a grave filled with blood.

In The Shadow Of Our Pale Companion

Through vast valleys I wonder. To the highest peaks. On pathways through a wild forgotten landscape. In search of God, in spite of man. 'til the lost forsaken endless. . ..

Limbs

The texture of the soul is a liquid that casts a vermilion flood. From a wound carved as an oath; it fills the river bank a sanguine fog. These arms were meant to be lost! Hacked, severed and forgotten.

Not Unlike The Waves

Aurora swims in the ether. Emerald fire scars the night sky. Amber streams from Sol. Are not unlike the waves of the sea. Nor the endless horizon of ice.

Odal

The Hawthorne Passage

The Lodge

The Melancholy Spirit

It was in this haunted place under a moonless cloak of ebony. I was drawn to the glow of a young spiritess weeping in the woods. . The blackest ravens and ice-veiled boughs.

You Were But A Ghost In My Arms

Like snowfall, you cry a silent storm. Your tears paint rivers on this oaken wall. . .. Amber nectar, misery ichor. . . .cascading in streams of hallowed form.

A Poem By Yeats

The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves,. The brilliant moon and all the milky sky,. And all that famous harmony of leaves,. Had blotted out man's image and his cry..

Black Lake Niðstång

Written in the waters.... . (voice of the dead). "Our shadows seep into the dusk. like cranes that melt into the pool;. a black lake in which they descend.

Foliorum Viridium

Foliorum Viridum

Ghosts Of The Midwinter Fires

There are ghosts in every hallway. In every room, behind every door. Peering through every window into the past. Holding onto us in the bitterness of the mire.

Haunting Birds

Into The Painted Grey

The jagged lines in these wooden hands. Speak of a silent aeon below the depths. Of an austere ebon tide. For centuries kingdoms have risen. . Upon the ancient hands of a god.