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The same old rain

Life rolls like the fog over the hills. Just another cloud of gray, like the quiet protagonist of O. An immortal leaf in the darkness, among the dying. The strings echos everr so caming, ever so gently. Dragging our feet into the new dawn, a glorious day of dying heros. Of lives seen and unseen. Of empty promises. Of cold and nothingness. Tears that can flood the nile, Lost loves, lost children, There is no end to pain of the piercing silent of the night.

Prometheus

Sitting, wishing, waiting, yearning for a new tomorrow or for a tragic end. To live only to die, to breathe only to cry. The weight that he has to bear for the sins of the world as the new day arises, the everyday Prometheus.

The Rush of the River

I always seem to return to water, the sound of the crashing waves, the water seeping into my ears. The soft popping sound in my ear drums, so gentle, rolling against my skin. Then a hum, a strange droning hum as I listen to the waters around me and the sound of my breathing. I want to lay here forever and be buried by the cool of the water away from the world. To float down the river, to be one with the streams, lakes, tributaries, and be part of the river.

History

Walking in a waking nightmare, falling into a sea of ice. The tide of grey pulls me inside. Disappearing under the waves, just the body and my mind. The silence is the peace that will numb the mind and the warm pain inside. Crimson red pouring through the fingers, warm rubies falling, dripping on the tiled floors, the pain cut deep inside. For so long the dragon sleeps, away from the nightmare of the waking truth, buried in the treasures of time and space. Buried by memories of laughter and happiness and smiles. A touch, a sight, a fleeting moment was all it took to wake the seeds that strangle the earth, that gathers every breath to bring the long dead to life.

Sirens

The whiff of the ocean and the touch of soft powered sand, like gentle diamonds gleam beyond me in the while teal blue of the beyond. Her voices soared above the restless sea, pounding with the rhyme of the thunder and reeling in anguish. The siren whispered a her pearl of wisdom, and it rolled and sored and tumbled into the curves of my ear, brushed against the smooth folds of my skin and streamed into my mind. Faith and trust, the stitch that would mend the holes, which would open the seas and bring the fishes to the coasts.

Panspermia

Adrift in the sands, wandering in the plains of gold and blue, a bead of sweat rolled, like the tiniest pearl down my back. Each step I take heavy, filled with ache and fatigue, and with each breath I take, I struggle to grasp for air. My throat clawing for the molecules to be sucked into the dry, bitterness of my lungs, to fill them with life. I think to breath. I stretch my hand out towards Sol Invictus, to Freyr, they have deserted me to this sea of quartz, this cruel bed of obsidian.

Park Life

The rain drops rolls down my face, slides silently and gently down the nape of my neck and slides into the dark. The sky mirrors the ripe round cloudy surface of a honey plum. The air hangs heavy with the weight of heavens, yet the surrounding engulfs me like the cool of an autumn morning. Swirling, twirling around the molecules of me. The streams I could hear crawling and climbing, skimming and diving around the rocks, the pebbles, the pearls of sand. The world at once void of chatter, of noise, of cries.