Poetic-prose Stories

One day in the week made me go back to my childhood, a day where everything seemed combed and ironed into the silken appearance of all being right, under control and a display for the outside world. I went back and again saw those same sanctimonious faces. People who put themselves on a pedestal, want to be seen, but I could only see the lies and the misery they're in of their own making. I still can only see the veiled deceit of the convention and indoctrination. I hope you'll enjoy these words, let me know when you do, A thank you in advance.

A timeless, tragic etiological myth of the first war of man adapting folklore-style writing, where fire is born from loss and sacrifice - a gatekeeper of peace, and a reminder of the terrible cost of human pride.

note: Your inquiries and impressions are valuable and welcome. 2nd note: I must warn you in advance; these glimpses of the archives which are transmitting from the 27th day December, in the year 2010, have not been verified by Panalou herself,and are only collected through Loreriding come of the ethers in her apothecary (as intuited and recorded by Aetherist Zoem). If you develop symptoms of fever, or find the story continuing itself in your REM-time without permission, please contact your local chapter of Cha for assistance. I cannot help with lore-acquired symptoms, and will not be held responsible for symptoms of Kem reemergence in your cell memory. I trust you will apply liberal amounts of gold salve to your anahata before continuing. Also, as the aethergraph has been on the fritz, only short segments of each archive can be made available as they are categorized and posted. -L.Plume

A short Poem about Dream