Navigation:
Special Links:
Tragic's Wake
Break The Silence
Text
He looks once more upon the beautiful one. She of loving eyes and starlit skys. Who did give him reason in a world with none. A season of joy promised and shown. Then withdrawn. The beauty stole away and dark shows play. Mocking gaze sits and stares, burning heat covers what it bares. For the lie is made whole only in him. He dreamed a dream that was not a dream. Desperate pains make devious friends. A hollow shell, the beauty covered nothing. The crux of the lie made plain, the lie was his own. Lied to himself, knowing better. Clung with needing hands to an illusion made real by his own heart for his heart. Illusions are cruel masters.
Standing broken, swaying on feet made week by starving his heart. Starving it so the illusion, without feeding on his soul, may die. In its passing his love shuddered thinking it real. Clinging it was tore. Rent as the temple cloth upon the resurrection. A way was opened and she was there. That lady who before his heart he bared. She was waiting, the only one. Her name is OLD, but not aged. She who gives life and takes it back again. She dances in silver streams flowing across his sight. Stars grace the skys to shine in her eyes. In this moment sundered love was mending. For the eyes of life and death fell upon his weakened soul. Truth and mercy, beginings and endings, all these things wrapped up in a glance.
Though sad and hurt he lifted his head. Gazing back with pure emotion, she shed a tear for this poor one. And he wept a stream, sparkling in moonlight. These tears shed for those who will never know. His center, opened by pain, was viewed, loved, and blessed. This imperfect one, chereshed anyway. Wearing his pain as a cloak hiding behind a shattered heart. He steps out for a moment, and sees the pieces sparkling like diamonds in the light of her presence.
True beauty comes not from blessings but curses. True desire is the soul’s desperate need for the missing bits. Those that are yours and another’s. For you are not your own. We all have a place and in that place we find the rest of our souls.
After saying these things she faded from sight, but not soul. Imprinting upon him her love. They will meet again when his death comes and he is released from his toils. There is much to do. A world awaits and love is impatient. Do not keep it waiting. These last thoughts drift through his mind on a breeze of dreams. He stands, healing. Feeling the slow return of life to his bones. He looks forward and sees destiny. Though longing, he does not look back. There is nothing there for him, that is the land of the crows. One shaking step and he begins his journey. Was it his step shaking, or the trembling of rebirth?
