This is Very Abstract!

In My Sleep

As of recently,
I've come to realise,
That I'm getting hasty
To lie down and close my eyes.

When I go to bed
And lay my head to rest,
My mind races ahead
to the things I like the best.

Like you, for instance.

I skim through my memory menu
And fast-forward my day,
Then when I get to you,
I pause and replay.

I picture your face,
Imagine your arms around me.
My heart begins to race
And I feel all warm and fuzzy.

Unknowingly, I fall asleep.
Unconscious, or so it seems.
With my permission, you continue to creep,
Finding your way into my dreams.

this week's theme is SLEEP

Flying on wings of Colour

She charms her smile in the tune with love

As she, the girls sit upon the grove

She laughs a laugh unlike one at all

And lets the rabbits nibble there

The pale tattoos

That shine so bright

So vividly dancing around her arm

The image of her world is distorted now

Her image blurred by wet eyes.

                     Dewy.

She sees through a screen of black and white

And finds that she laughs no longer

A butterfly flits into the garden…followed

By the tune of harmony and colour

This creature wild and yet so strong paints the picture

With a myriad of colours.

The scene exists no longer

                                           With splashes of black

Dashings of white

The colours collude to form a tableux. The raging. The raging red and bolts that burgundy brings.

 A/N It's not very good, but I was a little bit desperate. Anyways, maybe this piece needs a bit of explaining. The Morning Star was the name given to Lucifer when he was an angel. Make what you will of that. The language the creature is speaking is Latin, although mine is so hopless I'm not really sure that I haven't just created a new language. If you'd like a translation, let me know.

The only star was the morning star, preaching its word through a nimbus of light that fell to the earth in a circle of Cypress trees. The ground was a bed of clovers, crushed underfoot by the few that wondered here. This was a place of loss. This was a place of mourning, although the dead never set foot here of their own volition. They always come in payment.

Spread across the ground was a figure, curled on one side. It was impossible to identify them as man or woman, for they were neither and they were both. A beautiful androgenous face glimmered and flickered, as though they faded. There was ash in the long black hair and blood on their linen robes. A cross hung of a length of leather thong. Once tied to their neck, it had fallen to the ground. There are knots in the leather. They will remain there forever.

The head raised, eyes opened, slits of amber were revealed, shadowed by heavy lids. They blinked twice and then closed again, head falling back to the hard ground. A little bit of blood dribbled from the corner of their mouth, although it could have been wine.

i'm afraid this isn't very good. oh well!



Untitled

She watched, filled with
awe, wonder, jealousy,
as the graceful swan of a ballerina
twirled, leapt, flew,
flawless (without falling).
How she wished,
how she wished she could be as
graceful, perfect, unfailing.
Just for once.

But until she gains the
strength, faith, courage
to break through her cocoon of
self-pity, hopelessness, fear
(the fear of falling, failing),
while everyone else
takes a deep breath of adrenaline, runs boldly past,
excited, enthusiastic, fearless,
to experience the flight she will neither gain nor lose,
she will forever be
waiting in the wings.

XXIX.

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state

There on the broken courtyard bench sat Jacques, muttering to himself and wholly lost in thought. One would notice his stooped shoulders and gnarled fingers that curled protectively around something small. Every now and then, he would look around like a pitiful street urchin, as if a dog that had been whipped across the hind-legs. A few minutes would drift by before he would start sighing all over again.

‘Ah ahh ahhh! What have I done!’

‘Old man! What are you doing here again?’ a young timid man asked him, walking up the path that led from a nearby residence.

‘What have I done wrong again?’ the old man muttered to himself.

‘If you told me I might solve your problems’, the young man urged.

The ancient looked at him in the eyes, his flame yellowed gaze sparkling like aged home brew. His gaze was mocking at first, testing the young man’s will, and then turned away despairingly.

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,

‘Pah, you’re just a young man. What do you know? Pooh, you care for nothing else but lazy company, wrenching and bad wine.’

The young man winced, as if the ancient had hit on a sore spot. Silence ensued for a while, as he attempted to gather his courage.

‘Maybe I can help you? I’ve seen you sitting here every day and yes, since you’re always near my family’s property, you can say that I’m curious,’ the young man paused for a while, considering hard, ‘do you happen to have any relations around here? Sons? Daughters? A wife perhaps?’

‘So what do you know about me, eh? You’re just one of those good for nothing scholars, corrupting your father’s name and spending his fortune.’

‘But, I’m not like that dear sir.’

‘Oh ho, don’t you call me sir. The very next thing you’ll be praising me to the heavens with some ridiculous your Majesty. Yes, I know your kind.’

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;

The young man frowned, slightly incensed. Was there no right for him to be curious about those about and around him? He tasted a bitter sensation in his mouth and continued to ponder the case of a strange tramp. Yet, he felt that the ancient was not a tramp at all – no! In fact, he was far from that. The young man sensed a thread of boldness within the tramp. The young man couldn’t explain it at all – and most of all, he couldn’t understand why he felt an affinity with the ancient.

‘I know that you’re looking for answers, young man,’ the old man said slowly, ‘but cannot find them. I too am searching.’

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

The young man started slightly and shifted his feet uncomfortably, which caused the leaves under his feet to crackle. For the first time, he noticed that autumn was nearly over. How could he fail to notice before?

A hardened, pained voice spoke. ‘I lost my wife in an accident. An accident was what I told myself. Yet, I could not believe it and I still cannot,’ the ancient glanced over at the young man and continued ‘before that, I was a mad man. A man mad fuelled by rage because I looked to this worldly society as a guide.’

The young man stared at his feet. Now, he was truly sorry about interfering in the affairs of others, especially old tramps. ‘Oh, oh! I am a fool!’ he berated inwardly.

Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;

‘Yet, do you know something? My only hope was in a son, who has long since forgotten. Or maybe he is still chased by shadows of the past. I had sold everything after my dear wife’s accident – no, murder, I’ll never forget it. Enough of lies.’ The ancient grabbed the young man by the collar roughly, and quite suddenly, frightening the wits out of him.

‘Do you know that I gave him up to another family to nurture? He doesn’t remember me as he was a tiny creature when he went away. I passed by the residence day and night since. Waiting, forever waiting, like a hideous monster afraid to meet his very own son,’ then softly adding, ‘my own blood too.’

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

The young man’s face lit up, suddenly, anxiously. ‘I know how to help you sir! I’ll get your son for you. It’s simple. Just tell me where he lives.’

Moistened eyes pored over the face of the young man, constantly watching. ‘There’s nothing you can do, all is settled.’ The ancient’s hand moved in a quick gesture of release. Blue tinged wings specked with yellow fluttered, then flitted away along the weeded path.

The young man looked at the old man’s hands, so like his own, and all became clear.