欧宝娱乐

“It was not, after all, so easy to die.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

“Oh how the candles will be lit and the wood of worm burn in a fiery dust. For on all Hallow's Eve will the spirits come to play, and only the fruit of thy womb will satisfy their endless roaming.”
― Solange nicole

“All along the crystal cove the woven masks pace and pause from doorstep to doorstep. Shadows dance on the crest of the moon, as clouds, like dark bats, shift through the skies.
The children in garments of glib disarray;
the parents wear masks that won鈥檛 fade away.
Olive and amber, sea and sky;
salt and sand go winding by.
One can sense the cries of hovering birds,
the laughter of children,
and frost-bitten air.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“This unholy masquerade
when reality does fade,
the imprint of the God
on our mortal-stained facade.
Saints and spirits strip the earth
of the straining hope of birth.
鈥淜ill the hope with grasping grave,鈥�
cries the earthly mortal slave.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“Above this crystal pool are rows of lighted candles, flames flickering in the wind. Carved orange lanterns line the crags.
O, ignisfatuus,
foolish fire.
O, the lantern
in the mire.
Spirits quaking
with the light,
demon darkness,
far too bright.
Orange whispers,
yellow cries;
ever-haunting,
numb good-byes.
Good-bye, O childhood;
Farewell, my nickel joys.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“Daniel seems to rise above the moon with a brilliance in his eyes. He steps toward the sea and screams, more in defiance than rage.
鈥淢ortality; O wretched death and mortality!
Decay is a demon dream, schemed in symmetry.
O, that death crucified might halt its talons,
for all will ascend from the grave!
Remember the fallen, the slain; their dust is our foundation.
Consider their suffering and pain; for there lies a new creation.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“Daniel? Daniel...of what use are the bones of saints? Of what great interest to me are their dusted stories of day?鈥� I stand at a dreadful distance.
He speaks,
鈥淪ilent stones of granite hue;
enveloped now in sacred dew.
Speak somber words of restless hope...
of resurrection.鈥�
I hear the hushings of the wind in a rhythmic silence, and turn to see a friar鈥檚 lantern on a distant ridge.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“Daniel,鈥� I speak through weariness, 鈥淕od has given me little hope and less strength. I hear only a voice saying 鈥榥o鈥� from the wings of this circling stage.鈥�
鈥淎h, because we worship the gods of the arts in our wavering world; the mock souls and masked faces with painted-on peace. What do you expect of a forgery?鈥� He pauses as he turns toward me. 鈥淩eality is no longer relevant.鈥�
Darkness chokes the moon as we rest on stirring sand.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness