LintuBird

'...and she watched from the trees.' Desolate, I fear you shall forever be. Faithful urgency, sobbing amongst the hollow trees in a forest birthed of misery. Ever growing, weeping, in seasons then and seasons yet to spring, the fog shall now and ever swallow. A broken tree does beckon, 'Little bird, come rest beside me.' And I can see. Miles, I can see! Afraid, the branches gesturing, in pity, she returns their desperate reach. With the water's eyes, dancing upon hoofed feet. The specter, kissed by falling leaves, who gladly break to form her wings. The ghosts - whom, if were gifted sleep - would ever claim her in their dreams.

Lonesome A crow of cottled savagery, Nursing him, the wayward wolf. He calls to arms these orphan soldiers, Mothers weeping in the arch of greater sacrifice. Tasting blood, the indulgent beast baying for acclaim- Glorious and hungry is the child of my shame.

Aphysso The act did bleed speech unto him, a winging bird in reverie. A gentle, bruised memory that drifted from a dying tree - Hands that dirtied sacred veil do leave a burdened, russet trail. Drawn to madness under florrid sky,  tempted to taste... And so he tastes. He heard the maiden sing, and there he felt her hand - the mistress of affinity, she gathered all into obscurity. Unto face of lady fair he's gifted treading glance,  and now he follows... Blinded, he follows. Failings are the face in lover's sight, and he is the prestige, the withering of constitution carried with the breeze. Stumble 'cross the rind to disturb t