john appleby

Arenig Fawr

Vagrant amongst the peregrine nation.
He is out there...somewhere....betrayed by the
mumbling rituals carried on a blind wind.
Swallowed amongst the fragile towers and peeling walls,
he plays his shadow games.
Pale scars on the high alter drawn by his empty hand.
Grey rocks and sods of earth explode and collect in a
lichen dust storm on the scree slopes below.

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