Three leagues North as the raven flies, messenger of the gods. In barren white, the call sounds. One for sorrow, two for mirth.
I carried two soldiers today, two men I had never met. A name on a sign, one in each hand, the names of two fallen vets.
Wandering blind with no direction, too long you’ve been injecting rejection into my thoughts—correction—my heart….
Ancient river curls like a snake unfurling in the morning sun. The fallen angel kneels in silt and strokes quilted reflections….
A wood of gold where winds whisper tales ne’er told of young and old. I stand alone. A fork has stopped my wandering feet….
when their wings are broken as do butterflies before they die. Moon drives her brother down down down as ink washes over the blood….
Halfway there. The stars upside down above the shore, also screaming in silence. Such need. Rowing, rowing, still halfway there.
We all wear masks, or so I’ve been told. Intricacies fashioned of silver and gold. Painted smiles white and red will hide our troubles, our sadness, our dread.
Waiting. Still waiting. Wind the pocket watch. Wouldn’t want to lose track of Time tick tick ticking away. Time never waits.