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Google Imagen 4.0 Fast2xClarity 2x
In the cornโs last breath he walks again, The one the stalks still name. His crown of bone and feathered rot Burns with the harvest flame.
His eyes โ one dusk, one drowning dawn โ Reflect what roots recall. He hums the hymn of broken loam, And all the crows enthrall.
His hands are stained with spirit fruit, His voice a rustling sigh. Each word he speaks turns soil to dream, Each dream must learn to die.
The hounds of mist curl at his feet, Their howls like cracking seed. He tends the field of mortal years, And harvests what they bleed.
A gaunt figure presides over a decaying autumn ritual, adorned with corn husks and bone. Cinematic chiaroscuro lighting highlights deep ochre and violet tones in this mythic folk horror scene.
Created by Mette Pibse on Oct 28, 2025 using the Google Imagen 4.0 Fast AI image generator model.
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