small victories, like firefly sparks
like flickering embers smouldering
sunlight is not so easily extinguished
treading upon that ancient path (there and back again)
dimly lit, the corridors of memory and time
ascending and descending those rotting stairs of the ivory tower
clarity like lightning flashes
than sightless stillness
groping in the dark for the way forward
the doorways and passages still faintly familiar
the abyss looms ahead
but we knew that ere we started this journey
the abyss is the end of all journeys
but, as the Sages say, the journey is not about the end
in the quiet darkness, my soul unmoving
like a baby stillborn in the womb
the words are all there is
the words are all that matter
no, not dead, just sleeping
slow, frozen sleep
dreaming of nameless horrors
and hopeless doom
imprisoned in this chrysalis of life-stealing ice
like a seed sown into the ground
ere winter frost
i must wait for the thaw