2004-07-26
Handing You My Soul in a Handful of Feathers
Violent raindrops sear mid-day�s dry spider-web, and I wonder what the raindrops would sound like trickling in the dark depths of a catacomb. Clouds tread on the vapid sky above, and I yearn to lay on the drenched blanket of green grass, counting the clouds as I would night�s silent burning stars. Reminded of memories and cities now lost to the fogginess of the past.
The steam rises gently and slowly out of my tea-cup, and my breathing becomes heavier as the preponderance of my thoughts consume me. Worries buzz about like insects above my head, feelings surface to the shores of my heart.
Only the soft hum of my computer in the near distance, and once more, my thoughts begin to drift and fly--like lucid angels--into the silver sky. It�s mid-summer, yet I need winter to approach quickly--I cannot live without the shattering of crisp leaves under my feet. Autumn nights accompanied by the milky light of the moon, and I am reminded of how much I despise these rainy afternoons.
By candlelight, I wish to softly touch the keys of a piano. Fingertips dancing about the ivory desert of bliss and spellbinding enchantment. Shadows--heavy like lead--wrapping around the contours of my figure, crouched on those keys handing you my soul in a handful of feathers. In this trance, I would one day like to slip into the profundity of loneliness--forgotten.
My eyes blink, and I once more approach reality--my blank computer screen that is yet to be written on. I must begin writing in my book as soon as my free-will permits me. I keep having these horrible visions of myself--black trench-coat--blindly and painfully stumbling through life.
Thoughts such as these will be seared with the sun�s next majestic appearance through the fresh, downy clouds.