Skip to main content

The Dark

Today I searched for words once lost, glyphs inscribed in paper, tales of the stories I once told. I found them. They gave me peace. Even if it was only for a moment. But these words,
these words,
these words,
I hope they are not lost.
I hope the message won't be forgotten.
Keep them.
For this is what I have to give.
Because today, darkness fell on the sea of the dome. But this time it was different. This time, it stayed. Through the darkness the wanderers howled. Their crooked hearts reaching out. They tore at their own flesh. They screamed as if in pain, and I believe they were. Emptiness is an awful pain.
And I can't say if I howled with them...

I don't remember.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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...
Post a Comment
Read more

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.
Post a Comment
Read more

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...
Post a Comment
Read more