Experimental, impressionistic sub-paragraph tumblin' (think obstsalat)


the rose

I had drifted o’er seas without ending,
    Under sinister grey-clouded skies,
That the many-forked lightning is rending,
    That resound with hysterical cries;
With the moans of invisible daemons, that out of the green waters rise.
— H. P. Lovecraft, Nemesis

Man is a breath, and Life is the fire;
Birth is death, and silence the choir
Wrest from the aeons the heart of gold!
Tear from the fabric the threads that are old!
Life! Ah, Life!
— H. P. Lovecraft, Life’s Mystery