Where did the gods die?
When the last shy hymn blended with the mistral.
I still come to these shores at dawn,
to taunt the echoes of blasphemous vows.
To feel and to bleed, on this blind soil,
obsidian blades stuck between crimson fingers,
clutching thoughts to a dragon's scales.
2 April 2023 - Photography, photo editing, AI, digital painting.
