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Gray Skies

Page history last edited by Volkes_Wagon 9 years ago

Gray Skies

 

She looked out the window at the grey skies and a lone bird gliding among all those still trees. And then the clouds broke in one spot and a thin ray of gold light rained down and hit the specks of rain still in midair and made them sparkle like honey, and all of a sudden it seemed as if time had stopped and the only thing real was the golden light sparkling and everything else was just a dream that would disappear if she forgot to be and looked at the light too long. And then it was gone and the rain pattered on the windows and the skies were gray and the sad, slow, lone bird flew among all those still trees.

 

 

"You know, sometimes, sometimes when the world just passes by, shushing by like all those shining cars that have eyes but can't see, and you really, really just want to collapse on something--a chair, lie down on the bed, sit on the floor, or something--have you ever felt it? Creeping, written in the steam rising from your tea?" I smile and do not answer, the tea cup warping and twisting the world. "Sometimes, sometimes I just want to breathe in deep, breathe the scent of the damp earth or the fall in the air, the sharp ice dropping like rain from the sky. Here, you ought to try it. Try." I smile again, and shake my head politely. The tea cup rises, and the muddy earth shatters as I put my lips to it. I already know how the rotten grass smells, and the bitter wind biting at your lungs.

 

     Once upon a time, in a kingdom by the sea...there was a squire. One day the King asked him a question.

     "Do new things give people hope or dread? I'm about to recieve a new crown, and I prefer not to feel dread."

     The squire was puzzled by this; but of course he visited the townsfolk and nobles and asked them the question, and sat and thought about it long and hard. Finally he got the answer.

     "Sufferers hope," he said to the King. "The others tend to dread."

     "Why, then, let us all suffer!" cried the King.

     So he wrote a book.

 

     The child saw the world like most children do, I suppose. Except he didn't cower behind and slober all over his mama's dress, because he had no mama. He sat there and watched everything without an obscuring shadow blocking the truth, protecting him from bitter, sad, and possibly traumatic truth. You see, for most parents truth was traumatic and still is traumatic. This is because they are softened up from all those years of slober on their face. Just kidding. But they fear the ones that look inferior to them in all ways possible will be so terribly shocked from the sight of a thunderstorm that they shove them in the closet, but sometimes they forget to pull them out. This is why children tend to be so much more afraid of the dark than parents at times, and at other times so much less afraid. This is also why children never now what rain feels like, or how the damp, rotting earth smells, wriggling with worms wallowing on the sidewalk. They never see their pains as the sun appears and fries them to a crisp. They only see the crisp, and think they are twigs and step on them and break them and occasionally trick each other to eat them. There are the children who trick each other to eat soggy worms, but those are rare. Those are the ones who like to dig holes in the ground and get caked all over with dirt, and then when their parents call them, all worried and furious and ready to hug and cry over and beat to death their child all at once, they scurry to some baseball game or whatnot and leave the gaping holes. The parents are afraid the child will want to know the truth and leave. They are afraid that when they leave they will realize the truth, the eternal truth, the unknown truth that nobody knows if it exists or not because this truth is death. Just kidding. If nobody knows, how would I know?

 

     The sky is deep, deep as a forest of hopes and lost children whose feet shuffle slowly across the marbled floor, stone cold and rock solid like ice that burns in tinkling chunks of rainbow hues or the smooth black surface of a finned codfish rippling through the river as it runs forever but from what the children cannot say; deep as your eyes that fade in gray mist and whisper where the wolf howls and why the moon turns away from the tears on his face as he howls, howls, howls and the rising notes echo in the silent hills that roll towards eternity like a chorus of black shadows cast by a light that tastes like winter mist; deep as the charcoal path the pheonix carves as it burns with passion and flame-rimmed wings that plunge into the tempest as the birds fly and hold in their beaks white shards that are the lights in the deep night sky.

 

     Sometimes I wonder if the sky has stopped spinning and our free-fall through space is just a fluke of time like when you pushed me towards the stars and I turned my head down and looked at their reflection glimmering so beautifully in that vast vast sea instead of facing them like an honest human being which I'm really not but you seem convinced to make me one and sometimes I wonder whether water is really as sweet as they say like love and if so why can't I seem to taste it running through my lips and onto the paper like blood onto canvas which is the only fine thread that ties me to you besides the much thicker twine that is fear and sometimes I wonder what this frantic disease is that pushes you towards the unfinished line even as momentum fails you and your head slips underneath this ocean of promises like we're strapped in an airplane on a collision course and you're just trying to make a leap for it to reach the same end in a better way and sometimes I wonder if we're just sacks of unanswered questions bound together by strings of lies and if life is worth living and when I hit the ground will I still be able to feel it?

 

I'm missing something, aren't I?

there must be something more...

Hail the incandescent rays

Breath like a snowy angel

Raw scales, white

Fingers soaked with smoke...

How many times

have you asked me how I am?

I'm so numb, I think I've forgotten

how to feel guilt.

 

pt I

     There once was a girl who walked through the doors of a castle made of glass. In there was a staircase that led high up to the sky. She followed it, and climbed and climbed, until the glass was so thick she could no longer see through it and the air was so thin it had become only emptiness, and still she climbed, if only because the staircase had not reached the end.

     She climbed and climbed. And the glass walls became mirrors and she faced her own reflection, and saw that she had become a girl of glass, fragile, cold, transparent.

Comments (18)

Volkes_Wagon said

at 8:06 pm on Feb 19, 2010

i wrote this in school after reading those poems in the jones packet and thinking about the Old Man and the Sea. it's so short...

Sweeten101 said

at 8:09 pm on Feb 19, 2010

you only have three sentences.
ur second and third are run-ons.
tsk tsk tsk.

Mokona Go said

at 8:12 pm on Feb 19, 2010

poem time!

Volkes_Wagon said

at 9:56 pm on Mar 17, 2010

hey. thats the point. go read old man and the sea (of course he does it like a million times better than me but still). its that style. and part of the reason he won a noble prize.

Mokona Go said

at 10:12 pm on Mar 17, 2010

your ceremony will be tomorrow. have you prepared a speech?

Sweeten101 said

at 7:35 pm on Mar 18, 2010

its not noble prize in case any of u didnt notice that
its nobel prize, sillys

Volkes_Wagon said

at 7:56 pm on Mar 18, 2010

...oh...so thats why it looked weird...

Volkes_Wagon said

at 8:29 pm on Mar 29, 2010

this has officially become my practice splurge page thing. hopefully when i get better at this kind of style i can write m & m properly...

Sweeten101 said

at 7:05 pm on Mar 31, 2010

u spell gray to diff ways

Volkes_Wagon said

at 10:28 pm on Mar 31, 2010

...oops.
techinally they're both right, since there's two different ways to spell gray/grey, but gray is most common and i should probably stick to one...

Sweeten101 said

at 7:43 am on Apr 1, 2010

yup
otherwise peoplemite get confused

Volkes_Wagon said

at 3:47 pm on Apr 1, 2010

*might.
yes, but people get most confused when the word's actually spelled wrong...

Sweeten101 said

at 5:53 pm on Apr 1, 2010

its not spelled rong... its txt tlk
which is my lang.

Volkes_Wagon said

at 8:36 pm on Apr 1, 2010

...
abort, abort. hazel. i believe we have an alien aboard. over. repeat: i believe we habe an alien aboard. over.

Sweeten101 said

at 9:21 pm on Apr 1, 2010

just alien to u to
*smiles sweetly*

Volkes_Wagon said

at 9:35 pm on Apr 1, 2010

*have.

teatime said

at 3:26 am on Nov 25, 2010

Gray is the American form of the color, the English spell it grey. Similiarly, color or colour. Good thing last time I was here we never had spelling tests!

Volkes_Wagon said

at 1:12 pm on Nov 25, 2010

oohhh i see

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