Adagio - strings of shade
It is the beckoning, now, now here. It is the dawn, glistened by dew
from the red sun, blood and carnage and her slow ascent to a heaven
we cannot imagine. She shines, boldly, her last breath singing on the
hinges of our shoulders, blades attached; where I can reach down into
your neck and slide my fingers till I find the missing spot. The blind
spot. Where darkness is seeping out.
I cannot watch meekly upon
ignorance of all sorts, arrogance towards own ignorance. I am not fit
for this world, your words, your significance, your mission towards finding purpose and
meaning. I have all but fulfillment and atonement. I do not have you.
- funeral music, orchestrated by silver claws, talons long as open
oceans, eyes as far reaching as lakes across landscapes, hair that
covers clouds by far, gently and kindly.
This - funeral music,
adagio per strings, repeat my rapture, my virtue, my virginity of
humanity, never complete, never accomplished. Remaining an absolute
stranger, one without any intentions, in place of intentions lacking
proper names and sounds familiar. I am not of you. I shall take my
It is the dawn, her rusty feathers, wings of murky steel
eaten clean by age. It is the dawn, her bubbling veins beneath an
armoured chest, whispers of one scale upon the other, and infinitely
more, sliding in motion as the vessel moves, glides through the wind.
It is the dawn, her frozen eyes, seeking, wishing for more, more, more.
No shining knights on white steeds. No princesses with frilly dresses.
No golden hoards. There is nothing left, simply a fiery tongue by
breath, drawing the wind. She soars.
I say goodbye to you; you
who never came. And I take the gift with me, as the gift must not be
lost. I do not need to close the doors or shut the windows, do not need
to burn the garden or the castle. Just let her take me, feed on me,
She soars, like a gigantic reminder of the sun's
definite demise, she soars further, taller, stronger, larger. She
will last; forever.