The light expires, and just like that she has left, collapsed into infinitesimal longing that resigns into the impossible.
Dark winds wash through the open air like the dying light of an ominous day. We walk away, never seeming to fulfill the things that stay just out of reach. They speak our name, but we never hear. They walk alongside us like shadows in the night, wantonly pressing their perils, much to our discomfort. A distant child cries, alone, unwanted. The tears wash away in the rain and the sound is muffled by the deathly wind.
It is dawn now and the sun comes to show its head over the eastern horizon. Oh what a sight to see, to behold and to wonder at what strange force lies beneath, sits atop, walks beside. What time is it now? Too late.
Fallout from a lonely shelter. Tables tipping the balance on the high ground. Loveless rakes play chess with the women of the night. Starting out without the time to do anything.
I'm not free.
But what is that anyway?
***
It is discovered, in the dead of night, that freedom is nothing, it is not a state of being, it is a journey. It is the adventure. It is the story, it is the movie, that we write in our heads.
Submarines swim through on their way to oblivion. The tide rises and falls with the weight of her heaving breast.
In and out.
Dark winds wash through the open air like the dying light of an ominous day. We walk away, never seeming to fulfill the things that stay just out of reach. They speak our name, but we never hear. They walk alongside us like shadows in the night, wantonly pressing their perils, much to our discomfort. A distant child cries, alone, unwanted. The tears wash away in the rain and the sound is muffled by the deathly wind.
It is dawn now and the sun comes to show its head over the eastern horizon. Oh what a sight to see, to behold and to wonder at what strange force lies beneath, sits atop, walks beside. What time is it now? Too late.
Fallout from a lonely shelter. Tables tipping the balance on the high ground. Loveless rakes play chess with the women of the night. Starting out without the time to do anything.
I'm not free.
But what is that anyway?
***
It is discovered, in the dead of night, that freedom is nothing, it is not a state of being, it is a journey. It is the adventure. It is the story, it is the movie, that we write in our heads.
Submarines swim through on their way to oblivion. The tide rises and falls with the weight of her heaving breast.
In and out.
