ST217 ... Thunder raging all around
Promised dreams lingering in the dust.
Thunder raging all around, people scattering and it all feels so well timed, routine smiles and sorry sincerities smothering doubt. The hard rains haven’t hit hard yet, but they’re coming - promised dreams lingering in the dust.
She opened up a door to me then slammed it with her fist, said it was too much to handle, too much to forgive with a flick in the wrist. A flood covered the lands with an articulate dimension; it was an escape, into the mountains, for relieve from the aggression, or die the slow death of progression.
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We wandered separately, memories tracking and struggled for that freedom pledged. The soft land of spring did open up and ended almost everything…. almost, cept a few segments of trails embedded deep, deep, too deep to delete. Time doesn’t cater to anyone for long, it has its way and we are but a fragment of light clutching to its borders. Sooner or later a breeze slips us into an unknown path where agony can’t exist, where nothing is real and nothing to resist. A freedom where walls fade, crumble and end.
Weather turned around and grey-green air surrounded. A mellow rumbling of thunder caressed the silence, a soothing touch of warmth echoing in the distance. Life, i thought, a miracle of strange events unbelievable, undetectable, indescribable, a mystery of beauty and horror and crashing silence along vague edges in the winds.
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