“o, Death — my lover, my lord, beloved not-god whom i divine; the Great Silence has at last come for my songs. i lie here and i wither, darkling, i glow acronychal with the wick’s last amber flickering; i am robbed of voice, of verses. o, Death — thou know'st, so tell: am i to fade as the old sibyls did? is this absence the fall of my Troy, or is there hope still for the whispers of my muses, of my dead theoi? o, Death — my lover, my lord, beloved shadow whom i adore; adorn me anew.”
— prayer for the thawing of snow
january 13th, 2019 / / lianna schreiber (via ragewrites)
