Hereafter

Masked reveries walk amongst untold worlds, towards fish hooks and canticles, draped coats, scarfs and wet boots. littlest bird peers up at the sky and wishes it would rain, if only it would rain. sheepness not strangeness this time

if only such clouds could enter here, clear away the stringent thoughts too uncertain to fly amongst purple

despite
despite, 2011

dandelions. if only it would rain.

if toes were to stroll near ledges deep of inwardly reddened rocks with more luster than recoiled hens, it wouldnt be as gunned-

or bequeathed in such remorse. June came to give the bugs their day, but it is her day now isnt it? if only cooler swept in from the west, to turn this away and that away and anyway it wont, didn’t they hear? this worlds not the world we remember anymore.

I crawl up to the shoulder of a great mountain made of the finest blue marble, polished and gleaming over a moon that sings its colors to its residents. I stand forth on the cliffs shining surface  and peer down at the land i have created.

I look and wait as creatures come forth from the forest below, coming out into the night, to hear the moon and touch the blue rock that reflects always what it sees best. there is a chill in the air that was not there before, and the stars are leaving, they say this place has no darkness for them to shine anymore, they will seek another home now.

I take in a deep breath and feel the wind touching the grasslands, the earths and stones that found this place for myself, it seems weightless now, more empty than before. this place of wild creation is wavering, my dreams cannot be held here, I look up to the wind and whisper to it that I am sorry, I look down upon the moon and tell her she sings beautifully.

Soon after dark clouds of an indescribable color walk into the sky from the tree branches in the forest, most people dont realize that clouds are born there most often. the clouds are polite and say hello to me in passing, then proceed to climb higher still, than the glowing moon, or myself leaning on the top of this blue mountain. they climb so high I can’t really see them anymore, i wonder if theyve gone to see to where the stars have run off to, and as my eyes peer up into the blackness i feel the first drop of rain on my cheek. its warm and cold and heartfelt. The rain will wash my painting away. the creatures down below turn from the raindrops, running back into the forest, back into shadow, and I follow them.

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