04:39 Dec 14 2024
Times Read: 83
A tussle for time. Of space. Wherein we might find ourselves locked in a melancholy dance, it hesitates, threatens to enflame itself into one of fiery stormclouds and yet, those wisping tendrils draw themselves away and onto the horizon, to be not more than dusky reminders of what was not- and yet continues to be perceived with an almost envious longing, for the rain, for the thunderous promise.
And yet, is it that engulfing grief which is really desired? Are tears and the wallowing of sorrow all that there can be? Is it then that from this great ocean that thirst is quenched? May we only ever find our solace in this terrifying depth into which we dive with abandon?
For myself, since that is all I can speak to with authority, it is a thrill of danger- it's a siren call unto the dark depths that refuses to let it's spell be silenced. And yet, I find the allure to be both fascinating in it's suggestion and gentle in it's caress.
And even so, that most enticing of mermaids sought not to draw me under to my demise, but instead laughs merrily and with a swish of the tail, makes to meet another for a song, a dance, perhaps even, a tryst.
And yet what am I to do, but sail onwards, awaiting the next encounter with this mysterious being from the grey twilight depths just below my perception. Perhaps I will to dive in to that wonderous world which lurks, veiled in the shadow of the dimming sun. Would it be that I could swim also in the near haze of the clouded deep. This ship I once sailed and guided with skill, with pride, is no longer in need of it's captain and so the longing that called me hither is I realize, not the now silent voice of my memory, but a deep hum from far, far deeper- it's waves resonating through the distance like echoes of an eternal cry.
And now realization- As the night's moon draws a tide, a wave that washes over the deck and gathers me in it's foam crested arms, an embrace which I can only gasp against as it swallows me in a sublimation of self. Tumbling in the swirl of the maelstrom, I find myself at first adrift, fearful of the ripping tides that take no mercy upon any and all who brave the raucous waters.
And yet, familiarity- of scent, taste, now sounds long forgotten, raising an upwelling of reminiscence, of sights and feelings thought once buried at the floor of this ocean. What might the net of my memories drag from the abyss?
Terrors from the deep- the true monsters of the mind. Some ancient and mysterious, others mere shapes cast from the spill of society's trash, useless as to be discarded by all by the most desperate of creatures. Such a jumble that it hardly matters to sort through it, but be sorted, it must, for this is the essence of the character, the pattern of the being that we must acknowledge, the terrible, the ugly twisted forms that lay in the deepest recesses. We are they and they, well, they are undeniably, us.
COMMENTS
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LunarTides
20:08 Dec 14 2024
🖤