Gravity down a darker path.

Here is another piece of writing from Mykh, let me know what you think.

A deeper murk lies upon the unwary astral traveller, as exists hypotheses of weights immeasurable, and of a light consuming blackness. Waking from a slumber beyond measure, these vexed collapsing titans, long since extinguished, feed upon their own with an infinite and impartial hunger.
Their form unseen, as the gloom of an all consuming darkness distort any true motive.
The wise pilgrim plans well when venturing into the still vacuum between the stars, for these deities wrath is absolute, an all enduring cease, exists within.

— Mykh Wulves

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More of Departure in the Night

Here is more of Departure in the Night. Let me know what you guys think.

A looming resonance thickens as the wooden hands meet, as if pressing the colder frost, like minuscule spider webs on the not so familiar glass. Twelve chimes mark the opening of a door and a departure in the night. For beyond the sight of the soft candle light where imp shadows play with the imagined un-night, lays deeper murks with a thousand eyes.

From vast realms and dim night places do they speak their horrid language, as a queer song whispered from some dark corner or half imagined nightmare. From those dark portals of abbadon, beneath and behind do they appear, drawing the eye and vanishing as soon as a sentient gaze fixes upon them.

A cloak of dark dressed those macabre creatures; those that hide in travellers peripheries, in the echoes of their footsteps upon the damp stone sidewalks, and most of all in the street lamps that fail within solitary proximity.

A mesmeric tone of deep greys and brown black pursue and corrode my quiet mind. Drawing in the lost wisdom and memories of some yester life once lived, before my only known incarnation. Like one breathes in poppy smoke from the air.  The imaginary tendrils of night lurking somewhere unseen.

 Instinct and reason deviate as the rhythmic footsteps hasten. Only a small and fleeting sanctuary can be found in the night, that of the gas lamps cold light that spot this slumbering city swallowed by fog. Beyond my temporary flickering halo the impossibly black backdrop can only be infinitely vast.

 Not until sanctuary of a familiar door and behind it the hearth, do my invented watchers withdraw.

Mykh Wulves

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