It is cold here, ---- cold without, cold within. The sea that breeths a sighing rhyme upon the twisted shaw is locked with ice, small hard splinters that glitter in the intermittent light of the roiling sky.
Yet the sun is warm, fleeting willow the whisp patches of light and shaddow that chase across the greying sands bring breaf moments of comfort, ---- soft sented summers and the illusion of care.
The cliffs stand stark and barren against the sky, as out of the ever-devastated a black smoke rises, ---- thick and dusty. There is no sounds here accept the sighing of the ice locked sea, the steel crying of gulls which call "away, ---- away, ---" journeymen's cries that look for a long creaking ship laid upon the blasted beach.
Yet there is no ship.
Somewhere, ---- there is another place, a place of eye piercing loveliness, sweetness as bitter and sharp as the point of a knife, hard as the ring of silvered bells.
There the sun is warm, and clear air rises like wine from the silk of grass. mountain shaddows are blue and kind, and all is music, ---- the world speaking in one golden voice.
Here is the in betwene place, the twilit place where cold and warmth are one, where the shale of ages lies on the withered strand benieth storm tossed skies.
Yet roads lead to worse places, ----- behind there is the city, ---- the dark end of the world.
You cannot say where it stands, in the shaddow of black mountains, or the center of a vast plane. Perhaps it simply floats n space, ---- a corrupted planet in the last starless sky.
Yet, there it is, behind.
It is grey there, grey and black. mist weeps ever from the leaden sky and steams from a million vents. It's smell is harsh, barren, ---- acidic.
There is only one building, ---- and yet many, a crazy nightmare castle of single structure linked by bridge upon bridge, twisted angles of unyielding stone, sharp spires of adamant.
There the air is heavy with the pound of engines, and all things throb with the cold dead beat of a ceaseless heart.
there windows stare in sightless walls, ---- unchanging time treads a ceaseless rythm, and at the center which is no center, ---- there is Shaddow.
There are in betwene places of course, ---- deserts of heat and glittering beauty, forests like ancient libraries, ---- bustling streets rich with the clamour of people.
But always the roads run here, to the strand of the final shaw, the in betwene place, ---- the twilit land of cold and sighing ocean.
Here there is no pain, ---- here roads run to poorer places, Here is the music of wave and wind.
This is the last and first beach, the place of lead and spiral. neither captive nor shaddow nor sunlit ghost of the woods can come here, ---- for here is only a place to leave, ----- yet here is where I ever return.