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Tuesday, August 19, 2008

[I don't even know what to say anymore.]

Thursday, August 14, 2008

[fourth] coming

It can't have always been this way.

We were meant for so much more.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

[third] time's a charm?

There is a city, coiled away in the hidden foothills of eternity. Slippery light spills out of glazed windows into the depths of the night onto streets paved in oily air. Time slithers along the street corners following footpaths that wind and twist their way around one another. One would say slick if one’s tongue didn’t slip so loosely in a mouth that offered no traction.

There are hollow bricks and shallow stones. Walls end in puzzling angles that never quite seem to meet. As if the builders never knew just where their work began and their dreams ended.

Shattered hopes hang in shop windows, for sale in drab clumps to any with a mind to float away. But beyond the fronts, only darkness rests. No cobwebs in corners hanging in the flat breeze. No motes gently falling in a parade to their final destination.

Like the slowly slinking light, so too does sound hangs its head. Keeping low to the ground, out of harm’s way it meanders ever so softly on its way out.

There is only emptiness here. The subtle gray of crumbling mortar holds no meaning. There is only isolation to be found amongst the trees, perched high and waiting.

The most startling of all is the fact that this town has always been alone. Though, anyone you ask will say they knew someone who once lived there a time or two.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

... [twice] told

To the East, that deep and murky land full of weathered waters and milky sands, arise the greatest achievements that rest untold. Whence they came and who crafted them with gentle loving hands will never be known. Stories centuries untold reaching fingers outstretched to the pondering skies, this is the fate for these burdened monstrosities.

Their tips, paved in gold and scraping cotton candy soaring clouds, are but a glimmer in the eyes of those that have traveled further than anyone else. The rest, flowing from the top down in a languid lazy pace, stretch seemingly in their own way. Daintily touching the ground, they seem surreal in such a cerulean air.

Curiously, they are carved. As if fine needles were scraped across the surface of a rippling pond, lines are etched timidly. Swirling and twirling they dance and arch outward and inward towards the horizons of their own endings. Such a dance of nothingness telling a story that can only be interpreted with the heart of a true believer. Alternating between darkness and light they pay no attentions to shadows and rules of their own making. Such beauty, if only some would see.

If one could stand on the great expansive plain to which these soldiers stand attention, they would truly see what it means to be so small and insignificant in the face of greatness.

But, these towers are not only for beauty. They too serve a purpose. For, it is from them that the air begins to tremble and quake. The senses are brought to life here for this is where the winds of change begin their ever softly plodding journey.

This is where what we know slowly becomes what we don't. These are the Towers of Fate, blowing gently across time and touching souls that have yet to reach outstretched to a world they have only dreamt.

Monday, August 11, 2008

[once] upon a time...

When night falls, the children hush in whispered tones. When the sun sinks low in reverence to the moon, the little ones bow their heads in respect to a dance that only they can see. Fingertips dipped in honeydew shimmering light to paint the night with twinkling laughter and delight.

Grasping hands and gazing eyes, they wander to lands gathered together in the sky. Singing melodies and calling down to stragglers gracefully picking their way through clouds and dimly lit corridors.

And all over, their wondrous chorus can be heard. The stars flutter to catch but a glimmer. The air hums in praise and lifts spirits higher than could be imagined. Sweetly colored flowers perk their tiny petals in awe, for they wish they too could sound as sweetly fragrant as these precious children.

And every night, it's just the same. The little ones come out to play amongst the stars and to bring brightness to the world that the light seems too troubled to find.