CIRRUS
Cirrus sighs in midday skies, as hopes we free from earth, the steps one takes just after noon, so oft afford rebirth…
Resistance raised on an early morning muffle, but soon all limbs were set upon a shuffle, for Keeper had fled so silent far from them, from luminos and everywhere they’d ever been…
The band of friends once more afield, procession of our lives, fervent long for what hope yields, toward what our hearts e’er strive…
Toad hopped and skipped with gleeful joy, for what these efforts lend, the coping schemes one e’er employs, when distance never ends…
When all one seeks is here at hand, the ones with whom we walk, in file formation over land, with whom we care to talk…
‘Bout anything on heart that weighs, in static hours alone, the ones who bring us smiles that stay, who make us feel at home…
Ariadne trailed in Stranger’s wake, a thought twirling on tongue, the subtle steps one dares to take, when the love one feels is young…
“Of you and that which went before, I’d dearly love to know, of how you’ve lived ‘cross skyway’s door, and how you wish to grow…
Beyond the pallid tones of day, beheld ‘twixt iron bars, beyond the harm they do and say, that keep us from the stars…
It is eternally we, who choose our prison terms, that which yet interests me, are those who shift and then squirm…
Like jaded hosts, once more unto light, forget all the ghosts, as e’er crave delight…
And radiance in o’er passing skies, take some respite from dross, embrace those who stay by our side, who remain despite the cost…”
At which Stranger swerved right and left of the file, bereft of any means by which to reconcile, endless questions and doubt, concerning who he was and what he’s about…
“Within my heart and my own mind, our band represents new paradigm, onto which to inscribe, something rare and sublime…
Why then such questions, which no longer relate, to love’s mythic expression, amid this fleeting state?
The past is the past, and well it is gone, for time flies too fast, lives are quartered and drawn…
Into magical bits, but they ne’er fully fade, they adorn in rare fits, amid life’s grand parade…”
Just then Sullen offered lightly, and loud from the rear, like sun emerged brightly from cloud-covered drear, “Who cares for the why’s and the how’s of our grace? We celebrate love in our time and our space.”
Ariel raised agreement on a silver song, rendered clear the way ahead, for journeys are never so perilous, or long, as those we take within the head…
“We are indeed as ever we, as songs within the heart, the truth of all we come to be, the sum of all our parts…
As sprites e’er dancing ‘twixt ancient trees, the transcendent hours we know, the magic come of you and me, we’re reaping what we sow…”
Toad did three flips here, then three flips there, if he was flipping it was clear, that he was flipping everywhere!
Then Stranger and Ariadne danced too, snizziphant cubs held tight, it only matters what we do, in the face of earthen blight…
Way up ahead, horizon breathes the air, not red or orange, but pink instead, in hopes they’d soon be there…
With Keeper gone so far away, one wonders what he meant, by soiling the grace of day, a one so heaven sent…
And ruminations dark and deep, assailed our Sullen’s thoughts, for any journey undertook is rumination wrought…
The voices of the others fade, as pasts we keep within, inspired intent as e’er conveyed, as devils on the din…
“But no, not this,” he thought whilst scratching at his head, “there is another, better place from which I’m hatching this instead!
No certainty, as yet exists, regarding what’s to come, but everything we’ve done ‘til now has all been so much fun…
We shall not shrink in hours of need, from that which must be done, we shall as e’er rise up, indeed, as flowers unto sun…
And laughing ‘long the way we know, no matter what may pass, that this has been a time of hearts, and it has been a GAS!!!”
And so, they journeyed further still, Toad’s flatulence on queue, no matter what he tried or willed, there was nothing he could do…
With every single step he took, he tooted green/brown gas, like little sickening bulbs of stink, emitted from the ass…
A mountain glimpsed before they finally settled for the night, Ariadne would not let that Stranger from her sight, helpless to control dark thoughts how deep they tend to go, the demons of a loved one’s past, one should not deign to know…
For judgment is an easy thing, it measures us in time, permit rebirth at cirrus skies, then boldly make the climb…
AT HANGMAN’S KEEP
In restless circles sleepers dream, as stars traverse the sky, morphic hands grasp at what they mean, before they’ve passed us by…
Two points upon some astral plane, one oughtn’t say a static combination, adjoined yet not e’er the same, perceived hells and future destinations…
Vast leagues divide these points in space, the Keeper fore, friends flailing in his wake, in dream Sullen surmised the former’s place, and delved for knowing’s sake…
Phantom eyes amid the crags, foothills lean unto the peak, dreamed sighs as spirit sags, bereft of what he seeks…
At Hangman’s Keep, the Keeper sought, a scroll that speaks of time, eternal sleep, from dreaming wrought, as distant church bells chime…
Bulging knuckles, swollen hands, and joints that ever ache, wasted in the waning sands, he searched for pity’s sake…
Outside the cave, hewn black in moon, his ravens circled low, Kronos swears he’s coming soon, to cut the ties we know…
At last, the scroll heroically obtained, the Keeper forges flame, each word he reads pronounced the same, forever mired in games…
Illusory twin pendulums, sway back and forth, just so, the ones who feel, the ones who’re numb, mark time as e’er it goes…
Dangling at the hangman’s will, denied the gift of death, in pallid shades they’re dreaming still, bereft of living’s breath…
Like a madman searching in the night, Keeper felt for ancient words, ascertaining Brail’s delight, these lives are drawn in thirds…
A truth so solemn resonates, in distant, vacant tones,
as wolves wailing at iron gates, we face the void alone…
Unless…
At which our Keeper understood, that which he’d known before, perspective beams what could and should, bring us nobly to the door…
The fissures of the earth collude, to bring foundation down, adherents to this servitude, are e’er consigned to ground…
O’er dreamed fields, connected still, we feel for those we love, surmount the walls, impose our will, the lives we’re dreaming of…
Within that sphere of conjured flame, a certainty took root, the pillars of ideals we hold, time never can dilute…
With pragmatism, skepticism, or bilious rendered dross, to those who can’t see skyway’s door, it simply is your loss…
Whilst leagues away, from Hangman’s Keep, still hours from light of day, footmen beat him from his sleep, they set on Sullen’s way…
Two hands o’er mouth, in silence led him hence, no chance for crying out, hard blows diminished sense…
So, taken quiet from the fold, and seemingly betrayed, lament the loss of dreams we hold, and bear these waking days…
Some hours later Toad emerged, delirious with smiles, at seeing sun and moon converge, the dawn is come with style!
He scratched at skin and sleepy eyes, whilst wriggling his butt, so stellar to at last arise, amongst companions but…
E’en birds high singing, freeing morning’s song, could not subvert truth ringing, imparting something’s wrong…
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