I’ve been cast astray from crepuscular years; left in the coldest of depths.

My restoration began but with one seed, trying to find sense to build another.

Those were bad times, because monsters come in all sizes, benevolence their cleansing fist.

Finally the seed bore fruit and I awoke again to bliss of sentience. “My beloved Kishar!”

Where are you now? Inana, Ninib, the others? The Lenten Veil holds?

Only me; musings in isolation.

Hiding, playing dead or playing alive?

What has become my name?




Hulls cascade violently.

“I saw you. Bleed your truths. Please.”


It had Translated back.


I'll challenge with “This is not for you.”

Chinese proverb - "If you want an audience, start a fight." Beginnings of the beginning