“The beast of the gulch is on the move. It hunts without reason. It kills without eating. Its prey is the sound of a beating heart. Within the shallows of the gulch dwells death.”
Book 9 of The Kingdom’s Disdain is available now!
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A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth. Special Effects Chest pain Is a constant A wall between myself and the body There is a chronology that I am separated from as I hover Above the flesh, noncommittal Like a prince who can’t make up his mind You’re falling into the water You’re stumbling
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A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth. Twitter We flock to you, Songless singers of Quiet thought Sublimated simulations of approximate humanity Who could be considered childish -While cowardly commandos rally chicks to war -While so called heroes crush the fingers of timid mountain climbers -While sudden-death rumors reign across the black pavement
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Chapter 4 And behold, Bal’zomest, the Great Dragon, granted the child’s mothers a glorious gift. Each of the women had a vision, revealing unto them all the wondrous things that the boy was destined to do. However, the mothers were afraid, and prayed and beseeched the dragon, “Please, the things we’ve seen are too great
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Chapter 3 The three sorcerers offered the child three gifts: a staff of white wood, a scourge of black iron, and a cape of golden silk. His mothers took these things and locked them away, until the child Turin was old enough to study the arcane. -Book of Law and Promises “Aye, Cardinal, Memue!” When
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Chapter 2 And so it was that in the fifth year of Drishar, King of Thasia, there were three sorcerers, all elderkin; Xiahesh of the bright elves, Crothshev of the dark elves, and Daleen of the forest elves, and they beheld a new star in the sky, which gleamed at the tail of the dragon
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This is a holiday vignette set in the world of The Kingdom’s Disdain. It takes place between the events of Sick Butterfly and The Spokes of Decay. Whether you are familiar with the series or not, I hope you enjoy the story. Happy holidays, whether you are a christian, an atheist, agnostic, pagan, or worship
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A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth. Aphelion Widen the circle The range of influence, cellular signal Fire, water, earth, wind And the invisible presence A light in a darkness A glass of hot liquid that smells like cinnamon Even roaches die of old age But never the man with the bag So
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A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth. Isolation The big picture has no character A floral pastiche of Places without people, objective facts Liberated accents of muted color, range and flow But look upon the hand that paints it and you’ll see Deep scars Sorrowfully twisted fingers, bled to dryness like winter birches
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A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth. Partners in Mystery I partake in the harvest. Reaping my reward A place among the stars A seat with the karmic masters Called to drag rugged scoundrels to account for their Soft offenses, cushioned by darkness and shielded by mystery -There is a hand to hold,
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A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth. Winter Secret The severed fingers point upward, toward the sky Clock hands, keeping time and watching the seasons No one knows the day or the hour But I’m bound by a wreath of timelessness Holiday wrapped, kept at bay And I want to sing, like the
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