Experimental Writing

The experienced men all cried, not ashamed to show the world what it truly had learned, that the only way to connect with each other is showing the vulnerability in unity. The women laughed at the joy that had come from seeing the foot that always trodden down, now pushing on rims of shovels in preparation for the seeds to be sown, the dirt turning under the toil darkens with deep earth, sweat and tears of relief. The children run along streets once filled with projectiles unseen, unheard. Running along being chased only by dreams of presence now, now. Fear forgotten, lives living, hands open, reaching out to newness of hearts unfolded, all there, all seen. The green jacket stands as it always will, never to be seen under shadowed eye nor curled down, thick red lips, stained with the juices of hurts accumulated by biting, tearing, gnawing, and cutting. The promise was made, not by man, for man will always break away from pure gold of promises kept, always hoping that next time, next time will all be different and knowing all will be the same. Gold now not pursued, at least not the kind you touch, fight, and fear over, but is seen glittering in the eyes of all. Relate is what is most that matters, matters of worry like ethereal glass, gone in puffs, uncaught and gone. Turning back to ancient ways, forgotten from eons past. Looking down the people see walking ways so familiar they can go backwards in the wide and wearisome paths. Turn! TURN! There are better ways they cry. Not to choose a path broke by numerous feet trampled, but one less worn, some cross before, not seeing such light and grace. True walkers need not feel their way, the path is led before them, by scarred prints now not weighted with what was. But before all shines the sky eternal, unbroken, non static in it’s signs, shows to all the sun that come, brings warmth but not to burn, but shine it will. But where’d it go they wonder still, for it was always there. But now the light is what always surrounds them, giving what is due from time unwinding. Light. Light. light… All is light. Inside, all around, feet lifted from dirt and mire. Cleansed afresh like never before it all absorbs the lightness, from the memory comes the times when they were the ones who trodded.

(Credit to Woza Wanderer for the beautiful picture: here)

Posted on August 28, 2013, in Strange Fiction and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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