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Blog entries by Darkkin

Glass Girl Transparent, prismatic in a certain light. Fingers trailing through those hues, each an emotion, a thought, a dream. It was Glass Girl, one of the few unbroken. There are some creatures, doomed, damned, merely for being, she was of these beings. These creatures, travesties, the few, the fragile, foolish in their naivety, blinded by the changing hues. By their very nature they are mistakes, the left turn, evolution’s wrong turns. Those who find them, fear them, hate them. And...
The Wild Dogs of Tenebrous Wold Mars of white smearing the dark tangle of Africa’s savage heart— Tippets light the tails of a tale: The Wild Dogs of Tenebrous Wold. Marathoners, outrunning foes and prey, to survive another night. Svelte and slim, piebald and delicate limbed, imbued with speed. Elusive, an eerie reflection of their cousins, hyenas rash and brazen. Family: For it, with it, they fought and sought, racing against death. Those fierce Dogs garnered the attention of Ebb, the Swan...
Dark Knight of Th’dore It is there in the tales told by storms, utterances in tongues of rain spatter. Knight from a deeper place— he, who walks in the shadow of Death, a reaper’s blade. Stride by embattled stride he comes, presses the swell of a tide, a plague in bloom. Utter Dark All he is, will ever be written— amid cold, brittle constellations. One star, a lone, beacon light. He, son of the major, the minor, the hint of brighter life beyond decayed star tatters, a rift void. In...
East of Monday It was too early a cucumber Sunday when we talked a cardinal listening in And it was time... I called too early a watercolour Monday and we had no need for words... because your Pelican Flight they had come...those damn White Pelicans duty bound But you were ready, so ready to soar free with them to find the light breaking east Now that day is a Thursday dense magnolia weather and your peony has bloomed perfect sunrise pink facing east And still I watch-- for the White...
Where the Brook and the River Meet: The First Journey of Violet Bright There is a place far beyond the front door, just past a weathered gate, where Twilight dwells and whispered dreams patiently wait. At the edge of a bluff, near deep throated roar of the sea, there is a pathway, a door, where no ordinary door could be. The place where the brook and the river meet, at a fork beside a stone, beneath a great Alder tree, he, a keeper of all things known. Yet this Alder, for all his...
By the Light of Lost Stars Climb fast, quiet as a moon shadow at the rise of the Bleak Tide toes mutter secrets to the jagged stone stairs that go too high. And at the topmost plinth, sits a fox, mourning as his stars died. Deepest tints of the soul’s despair bleed into his pilled sock hide, ears drooped with the weight of the weary, as sleep comes nigh— Climb fast, poke a hole in the sky, mold it, find the Firefly Tide. Socks fox bereft. His stars, those stories, nonsense voices chide...
Star Socks Fox He began as a pair of socks, cobalt with gold stars, this fox. He was worn and washed, washed until he was well worn. Then one day, a hand sorted him into the feared donate box. From his home, his drawer, safe and warm, he was torn. Into a pile, a jumbled mess he was dumped, lumped—lost. Parted from the mismatched Banana Stripe and Troll with Hole. Into a bin of all colours and sorts, the Star Socks were tossed, and he watched as Troll with Hole became the prize a rat stole...
Place at the End of the Stars There is a place where stars made a final stand here soft light lingers along the shadows’ verge, Dark at the End of the Stars, the long lost land. Mortal measurements here are void, time kept by Turtles in storied round, lightning cast sand, and the Karakul ewe lamb at the Gibbous step. Stones rattle, chatter with the fresh tidal surge, limned waters, cobalt and sea taken gold, rise about the feet of a Rex from the Meteor Purge. It is a monster recalled...
Waterfall of the Fireflies All seas have a source, dew drop to fierce tide— So it is to the start of the Firefly tide, she goes, Small Violet Bright, upon the Harbinger rides. Jagged scars of fossilled stone, sundered land cedes to the cold blood of the riptide’s thrall, a place of start and end, and here she stands— Astride the cursed beast, his face as scarred as those limestone cliffs riddled with bones, the uncatchable unicorn so horribly marred. Fingers of wind, tangle in mane and...
Call the Name of the Harbinger Starbright blaze dances as it consumes acre upon acre of weathered woodland skies smeared by smoke, sulfur spume. Above it all, he lords in turreted heights, captive bound in the zephyr born maps of the cumulonimbus crowned in white. Harbinger, once cloven and bihorned— he of darkest sin and covetous heart, whose freedom came with bones torn. His prison an ageless evergreen tree whose, pith, pitch, and pulp bound a beast by his horns, unable to flee…...
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