A door. Vibrant red, solid, beckons.
Lost voices whisper calling.
Salvation. An ancient obsession.
Friend, foe, stranger, lover --belonging.

A blanket of clouds, opened.
Uncertain, confused. Love, and hatred.
Shadows of night and nature, darkened.
An old moon of slumber created.

Do you start where I end?
Or end of where I start?

Running, endless chase.
Running, scared, alone, heavy.
Running, breathless embrace.
Running, tried, tired...weary.

Do you start where I end?
And end where I start?

A door. A void. Faceless, beckons.
My own voice lost, failing.
Damnation. Ancient repression.
Friend, foe, stranger, lover --withering.

[Three, white, withering snakes devouring each other other, wreathed in snow blossoms sprawls at the bottom of the post.]

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Aeguary, in the year 951 AF.