Image Credit: Aylevia’s GFXblog

The sky was painted in shades of dirges and the birds gave voice to the coming morning in purple song.
I could hear the vibrant color and see the sorrowful sound both clearly, their weight pressed over long.

The stars shuffled behind the blue veil and whispered their final twinkling lullabies of the ending night.
I watched them fade away and wished upon them well-deserved rest, but shed no tears for their plight.

The darkness softened in silky tones and crept over the far horizon to shelter the demonic nightmares.
I turned my back on the final howls of mind’s talon-rending vultures, their lashings no longer my cares.

The sky was painted in shades of waltzes and the birds gave voice to the arrived morning in orange song.
I could hear the vibrant color and see the beautiful sound both clearly, but gave no smile for the throng.

The gathered self-absorbed multitudes missed the chance to escape as they all clamored for attention.
I screamed harmful obscenities over their screen-glare paled faces, their blunt affect held no retention.

The false humming electronic choir drifted on and over and around until the whole world forgot silence.
I tried and failed to understand these creatures that rail against beliefs, but bow at the altar of science.

The sky was painted in shades of ballads and the birds gave voice to the vanished morning in yellow song.
I could hear the vibrant color and see the blinding sound both clearly, their sharpness never felt wrong.

She Wept

The sun pressed against the distant horizon in a passionate goodnight kiss.  The sky leaned in close and then flushed an orange that deepened to purple, in embarrassment, as it was caught snooping.  Turning its back on the embrace, the sky darkened to black as the sun released its hold on the world and disappeared.  The ground quickly chilled from loneliness.  It missed the sun’s love.

From her perch high in the mountains she saw out the day’s end, just has she had for the previous week, and she wept.  The fat tears rolled over the ridges of her cheek and dripped from the valley of her chin.  She let them fall unimpeded.  After the second day she hardly noticed them anyway and the darkness swallowed them whether she tried to stop them or not.  She shivered as the cold seeped up from the ground to latch onto her feet.

Infinite moments passed before the trillion eyes opened, slowly, at first, in ones and twos that then cascaded into a landslide of twinkling curiosity, to spy unashamed on the earth below.  The stars laughed and smiled at the antics of the people below, who were ignorant of the truths of life despite the emphasis they placed on the lives they lead.  The ground, grown cranky in the absence of its love, was less amused while it forcefully suffered the abuse of their pride.  It bore the burden of their trespassing in the day as well, but did so more amicably under the watchful gaze of the sun.

Cradled between a sturdy limb and the strong trunk of the tallest tree, she sensed the ground’s agony and she wept.  She had broken free of her ice shackles to climb where she might catch one last glimpse of the day, but she had been too slow and had missed all but the gathering turmoil.  It was not her duty to judge the pain dealt and received, that responsibility was another’s, but she couldn’t help the roll of emotions that thundered through her as it crashed up from the ground.  It was beauty and pain in equal measure, and more than she could withstand stoically.

The night reached for her and she reached back, giving herself to the air in a leap of trust and longing.  She felt the night carefully envelop her and she closed her eyes to the meandering shadows of the world.  She felt loss.  She felt free.  She felt the chill of a thousand supernovae and the burning fire of the only love she had ever known to be true.  The sky took her in and urged her to set aside her pain and weariness, but asked for everything else as well.  She was tempted, and she wept.

Just as she had every night before, she opened her eyes and banished her impatience with a scream that quieted the creaking of the earth.  Just like the ground waited for the return of its love, she too could wait.  The eternal nothingness howled in rage at having nearly claimed her, and, letting her call fade from her lips, she sighed in relief.  Her grief was great, but it was not so great she would relinquish beauty and inspiration and love just to be rid of it.  Sunrise whispered its promise from the other side of the world and her heart swelled with hope.

And, she wept.

I cry very easily. It can be a movie, a phone conversation,a sunset--tears are words waiting to be written.: Omar Gordillo, Teardrop, Art Sketch, Cry Eye, Amazing Sketch, Art Drawings, Pencil Drawings, Drawings Eye, Tear Drop
Image Credit: Omar Gordillo Sorto

uncertain motives

He watches me, from his perch in the sky, as I walk into the morning.  His presence is comforting.  His presence is terrifying.  Is he there to protect?  Is he on the prowl?  Does he do anything but watch?

He is the hunter, after all.  He could be hunting the beasts hiding in the shadows around me or he could be hunting me.  How far does his star sword reach?  How sharp is its burning blade?  What other weapons does he have and how skilled is he with them?

The legend is just an imaginative push away from jumping free of the sky.  And when, not if, he does will he stand beside me and guard my journey or will he quickly strike me down before leaping back into the heavens, dragging me behind as another trophy to add to his collection.  I wouldn’t make much of a trophy, but the possibility still exists.

Sometimes it is the smallest of adversaries that prove the fiercest and most dangerous.

Trembles in the shadows that plague my path draw my attention.  There was movement, I know there was, but there is nothing my eyes can see.  The demons that haunt my dreams roam freely just beyond my sight.  They deepen the chill of the morning.  They make my skin crawl.  The hunter above could easily rescue me from their grip of their fangs and talons if he chose.  I let my eyes turn to the sky as his unknown motives are momentarily less worrisome than the flashes and tremors on my plane.

However, I don’t gaze upon the hunter too long.  I don’t want to draw attention to myself.  I don’t want to make eye contact.  He could be my salvation.  He could be my destruction.  His presence is comforting.  His presence is terrifying.
Image Credit: University Corporation for Atmospheric Research (UCAR)