The Oncoming Storm

January 11, 2012

The Gods, they whisper to me.
Sweet serenades, seducing my soul into sempiternal slumber.
Silently the world fades to the efflorescence beat of the Gods’ hearts.
I awaken to the burning of my abode. The Gods lullaby, ephemeral.
I hear the screams of the Wood-Folk as the barbarians attack.
The glamour of the God-Song ended. Ineffable beauty never to be heard as the men with steel-arms burn our homes.
We conflate together as we are surrounded. The children cry as the men of steel spit and sneer.
Denouement received as I awaken from my nightmare.
Harbinger of the God vision, I inform my brothers and sisters of the Oncoming Storm.
We flee through the thick labyrinthine forest.
Hearts in our throats, we say goodbye to the Gods, to our homes, and to our lives.

The Gods, they whisper to me. Too silently now…
I yearn to hear them.

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‘What If?’

November 3, 2010

The cold concrete steps beneath me as I sit, watching the passers by.
My train has not arrived yet.
She walks down the stairs across the platform with her friend.
Her blonde hairs falls from her head, lush and graceful.
She tries to walk across the platform and I smile. She cannot walk in heels.
She looks at me and we smile at each other.
I continue to sit as a cool breeze blows against my neck.
I remove my hat and shuffle my hands through my hair. The breeze is nice.
I pull my phone out and inspect the time.
There is still time.
Still time until my train arrives.
I glance over at the girls, I see them glance back and giggle.
I smile to myself and change the song on my iPod.
Children finishing school rush past me, yelling at each other.
I cannot hear them but watch as they race in time to my music.
A freight train passes as I tip my head back against the white poles along the stairs.
I close my eyes and let go.
I feel the wind and the sound of a fading freight as I slip away from reality.
The train passes and the song changes. I check the time.
I still have time.
The girl gets up and begins to walk over, I could swear she looked at me.
But my cynicism tells me she will pass.
She is next to me now. I see her smooth white legs in front of me.
My heart beats.
Could she stop?
She stops. She turns and kneels down next to me and begins to talk.
I remove my headphones and talk back.
She is beautiful.
And we chat friendly. I wonder how this could happen, and why, and my heart races.
I mumble and say everything wrong.
I panic under pressure.
I try to take in all the information, but my brain is lapsing.
What did she say her name was?
It was like a dream and when you wake, try as you might to remember, it slips falling through a void.
A void where you can never reach it, in the empty crevices of your mind.
I try to remember. But I can’t. It’s like trying to catch wind with your hands.
Soon the time comes and the train arrives.
I wish I had more time.
I have forgotten, and no matter how far and wide I search I still cannot find what I am looking for.
If only the time on my phone moved in reverse.
If it gave me more time.
If I could have said what I thought, what I meant… what I truly felt.
Would that have been so wrong?
But time goes on. Forward. Seconds lead into minutes. Minutes lead into hours. Hours lead into days.
And the next time you wake you lose a little bit more.
Sometimes I wonder… when we die… do we perhaps live again?
Do we simply relive life, over and over again, without the knowledge that this has all happened before?
With that dying thought being ‘What If?’
With no memory we repeat our lives. Repeat our mistakes.
But with that nagging feeling in the back of our minds.
Has this happened before?
Or was it, perhaps, a dream?

Nostalgia

May 23, 2010

Burning nostalgia.
So strong, intense, images searing through the pages of time.
A memory so strong you can still smell it, still taste it.
Flashes, thoughts, building, becoming clearer, the fog fades, the crystal becomes glass.
Could a memory be so powerful you could go back?
Could you travel through the very fragments of your soul to a memory so intense that you can exist in it? Make changes?
Could you perhaps flip through your life like the pages of a diary?
Can you remember who you are?
Can you remember who you were?
Can you remember who you will become?
Can you stop me?

I’d like to see you try.

We measure time by the annoying tick of the clock. We measure by our tedious sense of boredom. We measure life from start to finish.
From fade in to fade out. Why not fade away?
Does a memory vanish with your mind?
Or can you relieve the great and wonderful. Find the mysterious.
Feel the love.
Feel the heat. Feel it burn. Feel your body burn.
Ravenous flames burning your diary, your book of life.
Ink melts and seeps through the pages. Your life becomes a muddled mess.
Memories meld together and you forget what was when.
Wake up in a memory. Forget the writings. Your diary is blank.
Rewrite history.