Horace

My death dawns with tomorrow’s sun. The common executioner was The King. All I did, was steal bread. I was and am;  an unimportant, puny, unwanted person capable of solely failure. My blood clouded my thoughts and tired me. They made me weary. Resting my head on the bed of chains, slumber came faster than the chill of a sword upon your neck.
A swirling storm of dust and dark shadows lay clouded by mist. After dew cleared out from my stinging eyes, an unsteady, violent form began taking shape. Hauntingly beautiful, this was the very essence of what ‘raw’ is. Giants of wings as dark as the color beneath the earth kissed the skies above. It looked so…fantastical; so surreal. Dust entwined the wings together, changing shape with the wind. Once of a faerie, once of a bird. Strings of faint gold were threaded and woven into the wings- they showed me light in the darkness of my dreams and passed out almost as fantasy. The entire form then, like mist and wind played with the earth as it rose and fell, steady as a heart beat. The vapour fell to the earth and rose yet again to unite in a new shape less than milliseconds apart. Bits of fire and smoke surrounded the figure that seemed to be speaking- alas! Unheard!
                 Fire and Water began their dance as the vapour played the harmony. It is what we are, an alloy of fire and water. Fury and Peace. Vapour- it is all Mortal.
                And then! I realized the meaning as the face showed itself. With the wings as my dreams and gold my hope, with the form as my soul and the wind my thoughts; I realized.

Pulvise et umbra sumus.
We are made of dust and shadows.