By B.T. Cuzner
By writ, by rune, by hollow heart, with soul and blood.
I cast now with all intent and pour myself into my art.
Spellwork, magick, writhing power.
Forged and gathered in hand.
Feel my spirit.
See my resolve.
Taste and be devoured.
Come, hear the magick ring across the plains
The brush of air.
The heat of flame.
Deep dread coursing in your veins.
Thunderous echo quaking.
Rushing waters recede and then…
Death becomes you at the touch of my hand.
Photo by Alexandria Somirs