“Golden bars make no less a prison than a coffin on a hill. And in caged reformation, one wanders aimless still. The rafters now a recollection of sacred suppression. How the morning dawn strikes mourning confession. Now Death yields a harvest of the living masses. We walk toward its path no earthly power surpasses.” DeathPrisonMourning Book:An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness Source: An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness
“A thousand years ago or more They opened up the devil’s door And a cwene of dark and death Crawled out, and creeping stole our breath And we’ve been hiding ever-more.” DeathSufferingFearDarknessPainfulSecretsSpiders Book:Of Secrets, Spiders & and the End of the World Source: Of Secrets, Spiders & and the End of the World