Disembowelment The Spirits Of The Tall Hills
standing upon the portal where my eyes have become weary, the cold winds from the south bring ghastly fragments of the forgotten land, where, once, the spirits stood along the desolate shore to disappear into the silenced murk, "some by the seven gated Thebes in the land of Kadmos There, for these, the end of death was misted about them", as my eyes slowly descend, the dust transcends into my frail structure, the wind, the cold wind breaks my complete silence, the portal for which I stand upon collapses, no fear I shall feel, transcendence into the peripheral, "and there they have their dwelling place and hearts free of sorrow, in the islands of the blessed, by the deep swirling stream of the ocean", the hypnotised sound of Boetian harps, created by the force of the spirits, the faraway lands no longer seem so distant, nirvanaesque serenity as the hills become unclouded, the spirits embrace my soul, as I envision the neutral spectrum before me, the harp echoes and echoes and..... my wings take me to the bewilderment
