Lessons
Dear open sky of the reigning apocolypse? Why? Why of all periods of time have you selected this one to inflict such pain upon my mortal soul? The emptiness of a tactless day hangs open as I walk through the portals of formiddable worlds, twisting on their sides, spinning slightly faster than what I found to be my own existence. I see the glazed monitors of their souls, but they cannot see mine. I walk through the crowd, reflecting off the blurred eyes of each seperation of creation. The night is long in the daggered moon sky, yet I cannot see blood from where I lay, resounding the quarrels of yester-noon. I interrogate the wandering whisps of light, grasping out to hold the untouchable shadows of what I desire secretly. The sun arises to curtained screens, still gauzed in their wake. Elements of past cling to future installments of the embrace kind, and I found it. I find it under a tree, which has been standing there for some time. And that some time is summed up with a snap of twigs by the ones who believe they make it exist. It stays on it's own, and does not need confirmation from them. It lives on. -Vere
