Andrew Rose

 

 

We feel it...

 

We hear it.

 

Listen to the sound of the wind...

watch the way the clouds boil,

in chaos and cities...

that crumble and reform,

again and again...

 

Listen...

 

You find yourself in a dark field,

edged by gnarled black trees...

a glowing orange-white sky,

and you see...

a clear pond,

though at its' very depths...

way far down where the echoes creep,

you see the shadows...

and darkness swarming,

waiting...

desiring.

 

Beside the perfectly still waters...

a little girl kneels,

her skin is pale...

her hair cropped short,

curling beautifully at the ends...

her hazel eyes are wise,

sad and wonderful...

She wears pale cotton.

 

If she became any older,

surely she would become...

like a star,

eternal and undying in her beauty...

yet she cannot,

for she no longer ages here.

 



She has no name...

 

 

The little girl reaches her hand out,

to touch the very surface of the pond...

you feel a terror,

wind through you...

you want to tell her,

to warn her...

that the water only hides,

something monstrous beneath...

yet you cannot move,

you cannot speak...

and you wonder if you are the dream,

and she...

the reality.

 

A darkness from down deep...

stains her fingertips black,

and she recoils...

her eyes glistening,

and then she has turned...

she looks at you,

and despite everything...

she smiles,

and you know suddenly...

that everything will be okay,

that against her spirit...

all the night terrors,

would fall away.

 

 

 

It is then...

that you hear a laughter,

like the Summer light...

or a Sun shower,

and from beyond the field...

a boy walks,

his edges blur and he looks like her...

only his eyes are cocoa,

not hazel.

 

As he walks closer...

and you sense the otherness,

and wildness of the boy...

you hear a cry,

and you turn back to the pond..

a great daerk tentacle has wound about the girl,

it tears her across the ground...

and then splashing into the water,

you scream inside...

as she fights,

and still you are unable to move...

and then,

the boy begins to run...

like the wind itself,

the barest blink of an eye...

and he is beside the pond,

and reaching out...

with a strength beyond his years,

he pulls her away until the darkness unwinds...

and he holds the girl,

within his arms.

 

The tentacle disappears...

 back beneath...

its' glass-like surface,

they turn both to gaze at you...

as they smile,

you see a cloud made of Brilliance...

like the shine of a hundred stars,

a living, breathing force...

and it reaches around to embrace,

both the girl and the boy...

 

For they are Brother and Sister,

their eyes laugh...

and they are now eternal,

time no longer consumes them...

and now they rest in the secret place,

they turn together...

holding hands,

as they stare into the Brilliance...

you want them to stay,

you want them to not go...

and finally you hear the girl,

whispering to her Brother;

 

"Let's go Andrew.

We can play amidst their dreams...

dance across a thousand galaxies,

together strong and endless."

 

 

They are taken up into the Brilliance...

something reminiscent of laughter,

swirling about your ears...

as you slip away again,

and open your eyes.

 

 

Dedicated to Them...

 

Miss C.L.Scarlett xx

 

 

The Children of Webs and Dust...

 

 

This is Our story...

 

We are children of the webs and dust,

we were wrought from the bones of the trees...

and the drums they dug up from beneath the Earth,

We remember when our scars were still-bleeding...

and our wings still-damp,

our eyes filled with a half-light...

and our claws just-new,

they had sewn our souls within us...

 through buttons and twine,

and still we held the old memories...

As the centuries passed,

they gave us new names...

and exchanged our wings for nightmares,

 

We saw...

 

Have you ever listened to the voice of the wind?

Have you ever struck the light from the daerk metal...

seen the glow of it seep into your bones,

devour you like a sickness?

 

 

 

We walked with the half-there fellows...

the ones that yawned the days wide,

and listened to the half-uttered fears of the ocean...

 

There was one of us,

one of our number...

a boy who had two different eyes,

his soul had not yet been eaten away...

he still smiled,

he loved someone you see...

a girl of the Autumn,

and screaming rains...

and the bitter smell of ash after a fire,

she was his everything...

and yet her spirit too wild,

too animal...

too much a force of nature,

than a force of something...

that could be touched,

 

 

The boy travelled to the farthest corners...

of the underground tunnels,

the rooms adorned with broken glass...

through the suns whose hearts were filled with holes,

and into the blackest of deeps...

to ask for a way,

to be like her...

to give up our sacred ways,

 

For a time...

we listened to the creaking of his heart,

knew the hour sands of his soul...

had run their way into the labyrinth,

that lies just at the edge of our consciousness...

 

So he spoke to the Ember One,

the one whose heart is no longer dust like ours...

but stone,

who takes blood and fractures of your soul as payment...

he who would eat your very eyes,

if they were all you had to give...

 

So the boy gave away his voice,

allowed the creature to take and bind and warp...

he made him like her,

yet he had asked the wrong question...

bound not just himself but us,

and now we are all doomed...

 

 

 

The girl eventually became infinite,

and the boy lost her...

lost her to the stars and the planets and the storms,

that were her true heart...

she forgot that love was a thing of the breathing,

not a thing for half-creatures...

and beings that belong amidst the lightning,

we fall ever so gently...

and then our doom was paved in the tombs of this land,

 

 

 

We are permitted now to exist...

to exist but not to die,

and yet through each second...

and century,

and season...

the daerk shall claim us more,

and more...

very soon there will be nothing left of us,

but the black stone that binds...

and creates of us images,

that the world would long for...

though in truth,

it was their very doubt...

that made us so,

that slowly entombed us...

in this waking death.

 

 

 

So be it to them to awaken us...

Again.

 

 

 

Miss CLScarlett xx