by P.K. Winterway
The World of P.K. Winterway
Introducing the debut from the newest author to grace your soul: The Whitehill Ghostwriter
The wild will make you blush, bleed and follow a creed
Of unparalleled temperance, forcing a severance
Of everything you know about life, love, lust and more —
And why? Because in a godless country, the only lore
Is that of survival, your most terrifying rival at its core.
No one to hear you scream. No one to die for you.
Upon the fields, savannas and seas of torment,
They sit upon a throne within that heartless firmament,
And you are nothing but a scratch on the side
Of the tallest golem reaching into Heaven’s hide.
Eclipsing the skies, penetrating into an ashen grey
Of nothingness, shame, untamed by the sun and even night,
Blocking stars, moon and comets to remind us all
Of the quiet, calm back-lit canopy we normally see
Above us all atop our roofs in solemn tranquility.
We are now the serpents, tracking the ground with our feet,
Blistered with boils beneath wretched soil, our greatest foil
That we continue to toil tirelessly against the raging storm.
And as the shame inside creeps up, the infection that is the norm
In this predicament, we see what truly begins to take form —
That while we’re lost in this savage world — naked, alone,
Broken bones, like stones ravaged by the salt of the planet,
Like decayed granite and petrified trees, and we can’t ever stand it —
We will still continue to survive and press on forever.
Our pulse continues to pound as we look into Heaven and say…. Never.