Time is the space between the small places, the moments we call now and here is the place and time of our memory as one together.

I would like to take a falling autumn leaf and press it in the pages of my life, a memory of what was and can never again be, a time that ebbs and flows, ebbs and flows, ebbs and flows, like the dappled sunlit water rippling gently at the edge of the great ...

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Like warm spring rain the darke bloode flows.
Like autunm leaves bilious leathery skin dries and falls.
All thought abandoned
as imagination crawls
slow, heavy, dull, relentless
like the shadowes on the walls.
Time drags slow
emotionless yet tense
in the infernal demonic night;
it pulls with sinous and wiry strength
drips of melting wax from the candles' dying light.
Tearing at their screaming blinded eyes
u...

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