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Shortage of Breath

The dream of Thomas still clings to the edges of my consciousness, a vivid haunting that left me gasping for air the moment I broke the surface of sleep. While lost in that subconscious encounter, my breathing grew shallow and frantic, mimicking the tiny, staccato inhalations of a mouse as if my lungs had suddenly lost their capacity for depth.  The air became a scarce luxury I couldn't quite reach within the confines of the dream, and the suffocating pressure of those minute, rapid breaths eventually forced my eyes open in a desperate bid for survival. Now, I am left in the quiet dark, my chest heaving to reclaim the oxygen I lost, while the memory of Thomas lingers in the heavy, still air of the room.
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Elven Echoes of the Celestial Forge

Elven Echoes of the Celestial Forge

A lyrical exploration of a forgotten elven civilisation, where nature and technology harmoniously coexisted a million years ago.




In the twilight of a million eons,
Where starlight wove through emerald leaves,
The elves danced on the cusp of creation,
Shaping whispers into crystalline tapestries.

Their spires kissed the sky,
Woven with silver filaments,
Each note in harmony with the winds,
Mechanisms of light, a symphony of breath.

Glistening springs of liquid dawn,
Powered by the pulse of ancient trees,
Every flower a prism, every branch a bridge,
Connecting realms unseen, intertwined.

With knowledge draped in moonlit shadows,
They sculpted time with deft fingers,
In their gaze, the cosmos spiraled,
Infinite echoes of potential unbound.

But the stars turned, a slow lament,
Eons eroded the golden seams,
Yet in whispers of the rustling leaves,
Their legends pulse, like heartbeats in the dark.

Lost to the mists of forgotten lore,
Yet alive in the pulse of the cosmos,
Elven spirits dance in the starlit ether,
Crafting dreams, through the veil of time.

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