Ashes Against the Grain

I had climbed the top of my melancholy
being patted on the back by the fickle wind
I stood upon the top, the ground unsteady
and I looked at the wastes beyond

Patryk Struzik (2009)

Red birds escape from my wounds
and return as falling snow

To sweep the landscape; a wind haunted, wings without bodies
The snow, the bitter snowfall
You wish to die in her pale arms, crystalline, to become an ode to silence
In the soul of a mountain of birds, fallen
The cascading pallor of ghostless feather

Agalloch: Falling Snow (Ashes Against the Grain, 2006)


Nothing witty today, just feelings.

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