No Grip (L0NG)
Contributed by
pyrofairyburning
on
Friday, 30th July 2004 @ 06:07:32 PM in AEST
Topic:
StoryPoetry
|
Broken, fading, lost in the boundaries between times, you swirl, black against black, a lingering pain, a lone tear, glistening against skin that will never be seen.
Fragile, mincing, flying steps to the looking glass, a world, a million souls and ideas, turn the tide until you see only one. One person, lost in the fallacy of permanence, walking, running for all of her life. She will never stop running, like you will never stop. Even when time stops, you’ll be here. Existing in dreams, the dark corners on the edges of minds.
Because you are everything, but nothing at the same time. You are the spaces between words, the blanks, the black, the complete absence of light and life. And yet you give life, you make light, instil the fragile goodness in all of their hearts, nonetheless you are trapped, watching, engrossed, as they destroy themselves, as that goodness you gave is slowly eroded by the existing evil.
You are omnipotently helpless, you can do so much, but so little, as you drift between and around the veils of knowledge and loss, uncaptured in the rich tapestry of the words you inspire.
You remain, unensnared in the cold, threatening beauty of the buildings dedicated to your name. You watch, crying softly, as these foolishly brilliant people you’ve created litter your earth, the very soil you gave them with hard glass and metal, obscuring the glitter of the natural beauty that is a part of you. That you gave everything you could to make perfect for them. You’re fighting against yourself.
But you’re also fading. You’ve been split and divided over the millennia. People have died for you, when you gave them life. Such atrocities you’ve inspired, such miracles. All by you. And yet you don’t feel guilt. Of course you don’t. Because you don’t feel. You only reflect the feelings inside them.
You have been lost, found, rediscovered, revered and hated. But how can you have been lost and found when you are always there? And yet removed, tragic, bound by your own freedom.
Surfacing from this web, you drift back to your looking glass. A thousand souls are snuffed out in the blink of an eye. They are born, live, die, are happy and sad, cry out to you in times of fear, rebuke you when they are to blame, until you are once again redundant to them when they are happy, and what thanks do you get?
But slowing down, centering, you glimpse your girl again. You know everything she has ever done, more importantly everything she has ever felt. She is sleeping now, but she’s still running in her mind. Her static body swathed by linen, contradicts the tumult in her mind, the chaos flickering behind her eyelids. Her hair fans out, its ebony curls trapping the light like a spiders web, draped across a red satin pillow, cold against her heated cheek.
Swirling outwards, you ascend; your scope of vision recedes back to everything, her bed, the room, the thousand voices and soiled thoughts of the building she is in. The empty musings radiate from your world, thundering against you, until inundated by the mundane you trickle out, settle back to your inexistence.
They are all parts of you, you fault, your creation, every straining voice from the chorus in your head. The sounds of all the thoughts pour down on you, a deafening silence of whispers and screams. But you are away from that now. Still there, but not believing.
Back in the spiralling absence of everything, you are the negatives, the gaps beyond the stars. You are spaces beyond thoughts, the ungraspable at the end of infinity. Everything and nothing, broken, fading, lost.
Copyright ©
pyrofairyburning
... [
2004-07-30 18:07:32]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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