This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.

Light is the demon who clothes us in iron,
Broken the fae in the gift for our souls.
Here is the coal in the seamless rockfaces
Where heat of the ice is our weathering vane.

Shifts in the black sands
And sea foam in green skies,
Scudding clouds lost in the bright ocean blue.
Mirror looks down on the face that looks in
Where the sickly star mountains have burst into flame.

Hurried the stay-abeds
Lost in the reaches
When cold fog surrounds them in wandering drifts.
Dim are the diamonds
We see in the clear dreams
Where nothing but monsters can call out our name.

Hard is the pillow
That softens the landing
From plunging from rooftops whilst searching for sleep.
Gone is the hearthlight and
Gone is the wishing,
For all now is futile.
We hoped all,
In vain.

This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.