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Keystrokes in my ear,
Tell another tale.
To have me by the heartstrings,
To weave another veil.
For hidden in the nether,
I take another lie.
Like a bullet to the kneecap,
Wail but never die.
Here is where I found you,
And here I will remain.
Willow ever weeping,
I carved your sacred name.
A place of wintry solace,
Breathe to taste the air.
Cold and sour and bittersweet,
Snowflakes without a care.
It's naïveté to fly now,
And ignorance to smile.
When skies are filled with demigods,
Pestilence their child.
And then a wistful tune takes hold,
To lull me to that place.
Of villains vixens and vanguards;
The golden fields I traipse.
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The Seasons.
This is where it began, and this is where it will end: with my arms outstretched and you just out of reach.
Self-sacrifice wouldn't be self-sacrifice if it didn't come with its own dose of pain from time to time. With years of practice, I guess, I've learned to keep that hurt at bay, even appreciate it at the best of times. But every once in a while a sting comes that lands so close, that penetrates so deep, that even the highest tolerance threshold can't keep the deluge at bay.
Tonight the sky is darker; the moon dares not shine on these pastures and even the stars shy behind a veil of grey. There is no silver lining on this night.
The Ocean.
Oh, how this ocean of people carries me in their froes, a tide of unrelenting movement. This time I'm not fighting it. This time, I'm riding these waves all the way to the end of the world. This time, I'm sailing the seven seas of ineptitude and inadequacy, that I might learn and grow and find my fate.
This time, I intend to die to self that I might live forever.
{ a brief intermission }
I have forced myself into this corner, to draw out the beast within; when it reveals its ugly head, when it bares its hungry teeth, I will beat it and leash it, tame it for tomorrow's reaping.
The Dreamer.
I press my thumbprint into the mirror, to leave a signature of remembrance lest I fall into slumber and awaken to a clean slate. My mark will surface with the rising mist, and until then, I lay my head to rest as I listen to the stars whispering amongst themselves the news of the day. Goodnight, sweet world.
The Wayfarer.
Have you ever written something down on paper, or typed something and stowed it away, and somehow upon happenstance come by it at some later time, to have no idea why you wrote it? In my own ventures and journeys, i've found that writing during the darkest depths of the night tends to produce some of the loveliest litany, like linguistics limned from the lexicon of luminescent thoughts, mind-wanderings from somewhere between this world, and the dream world beyond it.
Anyway, more to the point, here are some things which i wrote and dated, yet have no recollection as to what i was thinking at the time, why i wrote them, or what their intentio
© 2009 - 2024 airetosE
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Josh ... that is breathtaking.