I awoke, dazed from the dizzying dance of death,
to find my love half-spent. Rage shook my frail frame, that it should be spent thus, like a cheap coin carelessly tossed to a restless child with no cherishing warmth to hold onto it till the end. The child in a hurry to attend an illusionist's gathering slipped it into a pocket with no bottom. Caroming off the curb, rolling aimlessly until it hit the gutter and sputtered lifelessly into the smelly abyss. This is where I awoke to find the executioner near the sentence, neatly inked, in hand. fly flutter fall down
different dreams cause conflict flight impossible I saw you in shadow and light.
A vision to behold, a fiery light that lit up the night. In you mixed the aromas of things beyond my reason, things that excited the heart of me and made me long for a soul worthy of a path that would lead to your own. You viewed me. You evaluated, calculated the trajectory that would lead to a shared path. In a mere glance, you contrived the exact arc of such a path, how the fires would burn to cool and meld into either security or a burnout. Probable failure but worth the risk. Into your orbit, I fell. A steady rhythm of heart, soul and a meeting of minds. I could hear your heartbeat, as it fluttered just so often, a skip of a beat, what did it mean? Would you be mine for all time? I imagined a future ending in two souls entwined for all time. You heard a heartbeat, the pulling in and pushing out of blood. Skips are a myth contrived by overactive imaginations. Out of imagination we deceive ourselves into believing things that aren't real, you couldn't see souls and entwining was farfetched. We together moved mountains, whether by sheer brilliance or the steady work of a pebble at a time. Others heard music like none other in our wake and the steady beat of our hearts pumped out a perfume that made them long for another glance. I felt the demon after it held firmly to my soul, pulling me down into some purgatory of sadness and depression. How this shattered heart still pumped my life-force to keep going remains a mystery to me. Life, colorless and without hope propels me to the end. You reject the us as mythology, the realm of unicorns and gods that shower down on their subjects. Rational, cold and alone, you calculate, looking for the next arc, the next destination, vowing to be more logical in your next selection. the leaves of last fall lie crumpled and dead in the ditch
they crackle and creak under foot and I envy their talent for talking from the grave. they burned brightly in hues that delighted us and as a justly earned reward they lie down in pastures that will become green. the tree that abandoned them long forgotten. we burned brightly together for a moment before you let go of me like so much detritus but instead of sweet release, I was sentenced to life. I sit, therefore, in a ditch covering myself and contemplating last Fall's leaves. |
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