Keith Senkowski Art

The fools think it is you, but I heard the song!

She mattered to you fool. You must be tempered in pain!

I am the herald of the end and you are my sacrifice. Your fate is woven, old wolf. The chains will be broken.

Much wisdom I know for I see further ahead…

The fetter will break and the ravener runs free…

The sun turns black. The land sinks into the sea. The bright stars vanish from the sky. That which sleeps wakens on the mountain.

There he is

The vision again?

It feels personal