He steps forth under an illusory sun.
Long dark robes,
Travel-dusted,
Are stained by foul liquids.
A wide-brimmed hat,
Puritan in style,
Hides deep-sunken eyes.
He may be powerful beyond measure,
But his mind is worn,
Ragged like his garments.
Crystal hoarfrost dots his cloak,
Spreading like poison.
In a hall filled with grimoires,
Big Hat Logan
Searches for his mind.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
I don't have any cool literary analysis this week. Here's a poem about Dark Souls.
