A truth could be scratched out from the honest landscape of life, of its frivolous necessities and selfish contradictions.. For the smallest minute of heaven we spend on earth, we pay in ghastly stipends without qualms. A surrendered ambition to fleet into the mist covered trees crumbles, to escape this collector’s harsh taxes on our poor beings, all but reduced to the wishful thinking of a couple of artists who vowed to disappear not too soon. Alone I’ll charge into the moonlight emanating your silhouette, and crash against the softness of your departing warmth. To hold on to the home we’ve built on lofty skies, I’d be willing to fall apart over and over again. And so I shall.. The parting ceremonies ring dry but true to my senses. With every wicked drumbeat it shakes my roots, like a frail leaf hanging on a storm-ridden tree. The heavens are falling, and the days are morose.. Everything rich has been rent asunder with those necessities. Finality has drilled in the difficult facts that make us mortal, caving in like the soft brown earth from above. When twilight comes, we lay to sleep.. Pass into the judgment of those we seek to find. All is gone, and those which remain, remain indeed.. To keep faith till obscurity engulfs their dreams. Original written: October 3, 2008 |