Paper castles

Drunk on a splash of power, 

The puppeteers will play, 

Petting their grand delusions, 

Dreaming they can stay.

Yet Time is undefeated.

Just ask a pile of bones.

There is no redemption

For a cabal of callous clones.

So build your paper castles.

Pretend they're made of stone.

The shifting sand will swallow.

The Reaper works alone.

Eluvielle

The rushing river slows

To a smooth, respectful stride

As the Forest's Daughter nears

With her loping and graceful glide.

She sits astride a stone

With her feet above the water.

Her roots reach down to drink;

An honour to nourish the Daughter.

Birds alight to bathe

In the presence of her calm, 

Chirping as they splash; 

Flowers in her palm.

The Grey (pt. 2)

A malevolent mingling of fetid fumes

Conspires beneath the surface,

Peeking out to meet the mist;

An inkling of slithering purpose.

A spirit which grows 

In the damp, 

In the dark,

Finds sentience by an unforeseen spark.

Lusting, it hunts for a physical form...

In the city's bowels, 

New evil is born.