inksthewriter

as dusk blossoms like the petals of a columbine, i retire from the cathedral, still clad in my alb and cope, clasping the note the princess left for me to ...

as all is fated in the world, winter fades beneath the lustrous glow of the silver sun, and with it weakens my strongest resolve to put the moment we shared ...

i keep the snowdrop pressed between the pages of my sacred texts, preserving its beauty amidst the weight of my pledged duty. since our meeting in the ash-strewn graveyard, the ...

we remain motionless, i in her embrace, as she soothes the sudden shattering of my composure, and holds the pieces that remain together, with the tender stroke of her hand. ...

our gloomy silence, and the sorrow of my reflections, is broken by the sigh she utters then, low and lingering, as her heartache settles deep within her chest. i strive ...

what can i say? i am duty bound, yet, her pleading appeal leaves me undone. peccator sum— our order forbids, such feelings that i nurse close to my heart, but ...

from betwixt the silver tombs, i peer through bramble bush, brushing aside snow coated branches, and step across the earth. the cries i follow slowly swell, smothered now by pressing ...

delicate flurries of ash-peppered snow drift upon the effigies of the Cathedral, blanketing the tombs of the long resting dead. a chill of rot creeps across the withered grass, whose ...

the queen is at death's door, her spirit-flame wanes— what is left of her soul longs to shed what tattered mantles it still clings to. i have been summoned, called ...

spring succumbs to summer, then summer to a silent fall— aufer hunc dolorem a me— decay creeps into the world like edged fingers—curl’ng. the reek of burning flesh a thick, ...

Wrefeal— Wrefeal— pacem habe animae meae. forgive my sins, these wicked thoughts— the obscured face that plagues these ceaseless moments of mine. i come before your altar frame bony—wasted thi

thirty passings of the silver sun tarnished luster—decrepit decay coalesce as one, nights lie everlasting. bleeding hearts tucked between the flying buttresses of old, have spread their dewy petals

tongues of gilded sun slip heav’ly upon cruciform— the light which spills along lustrous stone and suspends flecks of shift’ng dust like bulbs of flickering daytime flies, it curled its ...

Poetry thread: Poems: A Peck of Poetry: 31/15 A Bushel of Poetry: 31/30 Poems aren’t numbered individually, but they are numbered and linked in the contents! I hope this was ...

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ i. adiuva me ii. thirty passings iii. repentance iv. idle hands grant sinful thoughts v. prayers for the queen vi. the burial vii. the griever viii. reflections ix. ...