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The Bird

I saw a bird today.

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The Children

I entered upon an open field set apart from the road on which I walked. It seemed far. And distance messes with the mind. But I believed I saw a chainlink fence, barbed wire at its top. It circled a building round and round keeping all within. Seeing this I did believe I should get back to the road. For darkness stands and I still, await the light that's at the end. Yet something still called me back to the fence that I had seen. A chilling haunting ghastly wind that was blowing through the grass. I turned back. As one does when faced with such a chill. For mystery is appealing. And strangeness has an attraction. As curiosity leads on. I followed.  There I saw the children. About two hundred there must have been. They slept on beds of stone, a single blanket for the cold. For their care, there were more children. As kids take care of kids. Take a child, place a guard and still, it's all the same. Where are the parents? Where have family's gone? And a...
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The Possibilities

Today the dome is white, like the emptiness of a blank page. It reminds me of the gray sky I saw the other day. The day it seemed the world stood still. Today is different. Today the dome is a blank page. A page where the story is told through bits of inspiration that rain down. Each drop is an idea. Together they flood the streets creating rivers of creativity. It's beautiful in a way, but also sad and also angry. For as the drops fall from above the wind roars in rage. Perhaps it can be described as chaos. The chaos of a blank page. The chaos of ideas that rake the mind. The beautiful chaos that rains from above.
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The Rain

I walk the road. The one that was laid before me. Above, the clouds still stand. A dark shadow overhead. I feel as though I have been here before. I look around. But familiarity has lost its hold in memory. I have no remembrance of this place. Just a feeling. That the dark is nothing new. I've dealt with it once before still uncertainty grips my thoughts. As I walk the rain falls. Each drop splatters on the ground. I look to the dome above. Does the world cry too? I look to it for answers. It gives none. But I didn't expect it to. I walk under a tree and sit. Me and the pouring rain. I remember the wanderers from before. Sometimes I wonder if the world knows the pains of each soul. Now I wonder if each soul knows the pain of the world. So I watch the rain fall. In each drop I see a story. A memory. A tear for the ones forgotten. A drop for the ones in pain. A cry for the ones who are lost. And so the world weeps. And I wonder.  Is peace found at the road's end? Or...
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