Ashed Hollows

He was born to dream,

That naive youth.

Who was brave enough to believe,

The insanity all presumed,

For him was a creed.

Hands dusted in ash,

Fragile on a skin of papyrus.

Starless nights stretched thin,

Coming short for him and his.

Genius whorls of hurricane,

Bleed the tip of his broken pen,

Grown insane enough to believe,

Hollows brinked when he achieved.

Not my Images.

#JulyPrompt28