The moonlight sprays against the perfect whiteness of her face.
Her parted lips remain motionless as though fixed in another dimension of
time as the wind wraps around her body with a rush of violets. Signs of
crow feet seem to dig deeper into the fleshy corners of her leathery eyes.
Reflected in the silvery film of her pupils, the undaunting rage battles
on with its cruel obligations and slithering subleties. She stands alone
at the window, torn between the placid echos of silence in the room and
the lure of turmult below. In the distance, the disappearing sun beckons
her with its final eternal promise. She refuses.
Her hands pressing down on the window pane, she leans forth her
body. In a swaggering moment, she leaps out into the receding darkness
below, leaving only the faint siloheuttes of her fingers that had once
traced the dusty ledge. The midnight moon cracked and the sky fell with it, littering the edges of the black pulsing hole.. She will descend into
the depths of it as her transitory self and take in the tragic greatness
in its entirety.
War of Words 
nagarpoe@hotmail.com