George Tartaros

Shortlands, Vi

Between the silence and the feast, between decay and immortality,
Born in the heart of the volcano, but raised in the Icy kingdom.
Made of your matter, but not of your thirst.
A creature of light and darkness, open and closed,
She’s not mourning every dawn by the bog.
She’s not armed, but she’s lethal,
If you love her, you might love yourself.
She could drive you to a safe harbour
And before you realize it, years will have passed;

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