Of shine and shiver

I float among an ocean silver.

Salt crystals in the corner of my eyes.

Jewels, murky and trapped with fog that again and again hide oceans inside.

Benign deities roaming with no place to wander.

And the misty expanse that I saw with a dead fleeting glance is Teeming with laughter.

Rolling with shine.

And the ocean, Grand with cosmic giggle, sings symphony in my gaze,

And sets the majesty ablaze

With a child’s sunny laughter.

I walked 

and Feeling washed my feet

with Earth and Green and Hazy Air

the droplets bit my Modest Comfort

maybe modest, maybe Care

I thought about the words I think

and let them Drip

a careless Drop

upon the page

I feel the wonders whispering,
As flowers in the meadow—
I am sitting in the moors,
Among the winter’s breathy blue—
And the night is quilting secrets on my throne.

When the sun, so high,
Singing solace in the sky—
Like those flowers in the meadow,
Calling me to come back home—

To where the door is open wide,
So I might breathe in all the summers
That I lived when I was young.

With my breath, there comes an answer—
Something hazy, like I just can’t quite remember,
Like I just can’t quite remisce.

Something heavy in the meadows,
Holding flowers in her garden
Calling me to come back home—
To where my door stands open wide,
For me to see the flowers in the meadow—

I might take the train back home,
Past the summers that I lived
When I was young.

I walked as a character of my own accord and allowed my place to wield both grief and wonder so that they would forge the sky (and forge myself in reverence.) Billows of scarf and robe, wild beneath the whipping winds that caught upon my statue. Across the scarlet forests, a darkness had emerged from the west and so darkness covered the sky. The great storm was coming once again and all the crypts had been opened. Seven thousand chattering Zomboids clawed their way from the depths of the Cracked Crickle Caverns and they were wild and strange and they danced in some new way— a way I had not seen before and remembered there long after. As all the heavens cried lone wolf and the Zomboids cried for rain, I had found myself, too, dancing— with the grace of some ancient children that had forged the world I knew. 

Here there was Only I.

As one lives a life without an end with consciousness forgiving only that which i’d forgotten, memory did become a story and a painting; if not only a figment of the wind. But fine I sat with silence and we shared a blade of grass between by teeth. Beneath the ancient oak the breeze did grace my shirt, began to take my breath. That meant a storm was near, and dear she would be kind to me. For I was comfortable sitting here against an ancient oak, utop the stone of joshua, and move I didn’t care to. The day was windy and the clouds battled sun, weird golems in the sky, and the battle raged but I only heard the wind.

It was twenty years to the day, still fresh in my mind. The way she had been broken and the twist her music made as she spiraled into death; the wild white infinity.

To I, there was no one left to laugh with and no one left to cry.

And then—

Sunlight flooded the meadows, and descended from the sky.

And so I jumped up upon that stone; I leapt at once, for struck with sudden life, I cried
“Oh, there you are, Oh there you are!” And I saw you all around me, and I felt you in my heart. Who are we, you and I? I cried with the valor of a budding sailor. If not the trees, if not the sky, if not the birds and butterflies, if not the light cast through the shadows of those golems weird and wandered.

But if I could only see your face and feel your cheek pressed next to mine.

The wind picked up.

Yet I stood still, and the dappled grace of godly sun did shout cross the valley, that I knew i’d come so far and still had so much left to go.

And I stood still, in solitary place, lost in light and lost in time.

But I stood still, and missed you.

And there was nothing left to say.

That morning we found dead stallions laying in heaps upon the mountains, hunted by the Kahns.

The Great Lame, they called it

Our brothers slaughtered

They left the women and children alone

They took Jambra

They ate our food slowly and with no care to carry on until all the wine was emptied

Hoards of drunk wisemen pulling horses

Silent melancholy treads into darkness.