All the world is dying as I smile and move on…
My legs are strong but only so to the journey for which they could carry me as I walk into the whiteness. The outline of black naked trees; a representation of all the world dying as I walk and appear unseen to ignorant eyes of past and now. The snow falls erratically from the skies and out of this chaotic scenery, there lies only peace and the sounds of nonentity and the entire. Truly beautiful is this landscape and yet justly lifeless. I trek on past meadows and blank pastures and I hear nothing and feel the numbness of nature from which, arrogantly, I am one with.
But I am sick I tell myself. My eyes plunged deep and become dark patches of my face and how they tell the stories of my “reality” so to be symbols of this choice of introvertness. I am weary and weak. I come to a barb wired, wooden fence that seems to have been still and decrepit for a decade more and sit for a while. Each snowflake bites as they touch down on my lips, cheek and chin. My hair wet from the certainty of overlooking the reward of wearing a head garment, and drips of cold yet soothing droplets trickle and run down from my nose. I am dressed inadequately but this day is yieldingly tepid for the month of February. This is seemingly the days of end but as I sit here and contemplate, my heart still resonates with rhythm which gives me an iota of motivation, so I smile and move on.
The evening turns into darkness and I am enchanted by the sparkles of star clusters and the spirits of the night sky. I’ve decided to stop and fall back into a bed of deep snow so to have a panoramic view of the Big Dipper, Orion, and their neighbouring siblings and tune into the silence which is delightfully deafening. And then I dreamed of you.
The Collision of the Stars
She spends her time along the shores watching, dancing, crying.
Her “reality” is punishment for crimes she has never committed.
Her tears become tasteless, dry and hollow.
All these memories, faint and arid, torment her every breath as she dreams.
She feels a sickness that is suicidal as she searches for a cure that doesn’t exist.
Her love was perfect, but dragged and beaten by the gravel floor, and so many scars once hidden, now lay open and sting her as she smiles in rage.
She wants to wake up, wake up, wake up but is shrouded by water and the density of fear.
The constant questions now plague her as she falls deeper and deeper into a senseless, cavernous void.
Her figures loosen; she loses control, and becomes an angel with no purpose.
She paints her face to blend in.
She embeds feathers in her hair.
The empire calls to her but she is no longer coherent and has gone to sit in a forest and smile and become a god.
I spend my time there by the shore, waiting for her to strike so to extract this venom from her veins and relieve her from the madness....