• The Telmeros Scribe

Muse, my Muse

Muse, my fair Muse,

Like water down a mountain

Muse the story of tattoos.


Ink under the skin,

Future’s history entwined

Are stories yet to be.


Muse the story of cataclysm.


Silence, delphic Silence,

Like an unfound sixth sense

Silence is malevolence.


It ticks,

The hands of a clock

Abyssal in depth.


Silence enslaves the Myst.


Myst, my deadly Myst,

Like floodwaters high

Myst is the invading cultist.


A thing of beauty,

Telmeros, branches high above

Will never fade.


Myst consumes the living.

Myst consumes the dead.

Silence remains.


We musn’t flee,

We must claim victory.


Myst, tool of my adversary,

Like a friend now corrupted

Myst is the newest cemetery.


Tombstones,

Soldiers sodden with dirt

Will never fade.


Myst consumes the living.

Myst consumes the dead.

Battlefield won.


Silence, deafening silence,

Like a terrible weight of thought

Silence is indomitable.


It ticks,

Axiom to all but its own

Despite its defeat,


Silence begets silence.


Muse, my fair Muse,

Like water in a placid lake

Muse the story of tattoos.


Ink under the skin,

History’s future entwined

Are stories that have been.


Muse stories of determination.


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