Saturday, March 1, 2014

A dream, a vow.

A stray leaf makes a fuzzed ruffling amongst the Autumn wind; to journey across the grass is all it is destined to do. Aloft it can be, but meant to stay below and with the waves of green for an eternity. 

She will be there, a shepard hidden and embraced by the willow trees.

There is a pond nearby, crafted gently - bristle by bristle she builds a paradise for a soul so tempered, a ghost so void; never to hold anything in its wake.

Blind maybe.

Cold maybe.

Broken...

...maybe to a lesser eye, tempered is rhetoric for the grounds of evil.
But for all the negativity in the soft grassy plains of a shepard, she will always look up.

It's like starlight.

But not. 

Like a raging sea.

But not. 

It is everything the wayward light touches.

The morning light wakes her eyes as you stare at them floating on the calm currents of the winter pillows.
You caress her face, detailing her smile, waiting on your last breaths to see her eyes open again as she squints in glee in your company. 

You don't have to say words.

You don't have to detail the weightless feeling that rushes to your shoulders.

Just kiss her.

Let the sun shine through the room.

Let the leaves fall with every memory written in every single micro vein of that once flourishing sun mast of a brave sea.
They will continue to fly with the simple memory that you will wake up with her the morning and never have to dream again. 

That you will see this through.

A vow.

A dream.

That's all there ever is.

A bliss ever soo sweet you cannot let things falter.

You are devoted.

You are alive.

You are the strength in the foundation you share.

Invincible.

...

...

Your eyes open.

Blind.

Cold.

You are fixed.

Shades of the objects that once were family decorated the room you lived in.
The pillows now stale and crusting beneath your tired head.

You can see her.

She beckons you closer.

Lips muted as your eyes see love.

Starlight glimmers ever brighter when the room is black.

Your hand moves closer across the bed sheet, gliding amongst the white rustled silk.

She breathes out to you.

The air surrounds you like a warm blanket, amplifying the beat in your chest as you reach closer.

Your hand passes straight through her.

Devoid in a callous mist. 

...

...

Life is just too fair.
These memories are equal in all their nature.
For there is is a kiss that lingers on through the darkness of the night. 

There is a kiss a ghost gives that will spark wildfires that will trample everything in its wake.

A kiss that you see in the nights wake, not felt behind the willow tree or by the pond.

But a kiss.

...

....

......

The bed turns into dust and you open the front door, greeted by the morning sun, the soft breeze - the rustle of leaves. You will stride amongst the paddock chasing those memories, just for a short embrace.

Crush the leaves, and the world turns into the shades you once loved.

Pain becomes the only compromise.

...

....

I promise.

I vow.

Will.

...

You reside over the pond now and greet the fish who will never remember their own names.
Flakes of bread leave your fingers and disappear into a mild abyssal void...

...with close floating bristles.



Photo from: http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-opAFfaYZV38/TaZ__0BSLeI/AAAAAAAAAJs/8pEarqEZTg4/s1600/Australia%2BDay%2B09%2B023.jpg


The mindless ramblings of Symon M. Taylor.


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