A Chosen Hollow I would carve my own ruin out of men of straw, lumps of dirt I was abomination, I was cowered flight, the chosen few, I embodied night. All hell is suggested by a spark encroaching vapour, engulfing dark Tendrils of clotted ends, snatching with claws what void this silence, this absence of laws Coeval sunsets, enthralling shimmers of an abyssal recluse, a chosen hollow Pale skies shatter, living dust of the dead The burrowing race into Limbo followed Heartbeats thumping feeble goodbyes A muted waving to shimmering skies Enthralled by darkness, accepting the nill Spiritual silence, talpaedic will. All truth is suggested by this light Our entropic insight, a hubristic rite Mirage of distance now scattered in time Transgressing the separate, primordial crime. I spoke a world of words in reverse Closing the paths that my blood had traversed I discarded all loyalty to urge and intent My venom is utterly spent. An arena of liars, they welcome the flood A tradition of tongues, of throats bred to rot Eyelids shut hard against summoning skies Their waters run shallow, the dead drown their prize. Obverse and reverse sides of a coin, simulacra forged man-made resemblance in the profoundness of Erebus' glare A labyrinth that consists of a single straight line, invisible, endless. “My flesh may feel fear; I myself do not.” Mine own cross to bear. I allow the days to forget me. All transience is reflected in this sudden end Fire in the folds of the living pit’s descent Where mourners glory in their escape from the fates Drunk on their names reap kleos at death’s gates Death of the spirit, not of the heart Suffocating rigour rids the palate of doubt The one ipse dixit in our surroundings dank is the clasp of the herd, the writ of without.