Your Dispraportionate Gaze...

Katherine Skye

 

 

You are in a field...

an aged wind is blowing.

You hear nothing...

but the thud of grass blade against blade,

and a whistling far away...

deep in the forest ahead of you,

you stare into the lilac gloom...

feel the last heat of the day touching your shoulders,

and quite suddenly...

you hear music,

the smallest of lively tunes...

jaunty and haunting in lure,

it calls to you and you walk into the woods....

 

You travel on,

through echoing darks...

and a chaos of tangled vines,

you reach a clearing...

beside a stream,

silent and grey...

and beside it stands a man,

who leans against a tall bar table...

upon which rests a gramophone.

He turns to look at you...

as the music warbles on,

and you see his wolf-like eyes glint...

beneath the glass lenses he wears,

A feathered hat sits at an angle on his head...

and a fine royal purple coat,

 drapes his shoulders...

he grins the smallest of canine grin,

and lifts a lavender teacup...

to his lips,

for a drink.

 

 

He offers you a silent salute...

and then whispers these words to you;

 

'A day is coming,

soon...

soon.

Our time is slipping away to ashes...

and burning the fine leather off our souls,

we watch the storms gather...

and we break the glass amidst the rain,

but...

I have a message to give to you,

for you see...

the Sinister Meeting Room,

has sent me unto thee...

so heed.

We are falling slowly...

and with it our hearts,

and we are waiting for the blade...

but,

it is an...

invitation of sorts,

that I bring from your comrades...

at the Sinister Meeting Room.'

 

'A day or two hence,

thee must wait for the deepest of darkness...

be it shadow or gloom,

blackness of storm or night...

delve within it,

and take with you an old watch,

and watch your clock...

wait for the loudest,

most slow tick...

and stamp upon the ground,

bring up the dust...

and chant the words;

'Live me...

Live they.'

Close thy eyes and spin around...

Open them again and throw the watch down,

smash it beneath thy feet...

and wait for,

the Sinister Meeting Room's call.'

 

The man whispers to you...

tThat all we really are is white elephants,

we tiptoe about trying to hide the greatness within us...

when really we are elephants,

meant to be magnificent...

and free,

and beautiful...

and intelligent,

yet even now...

a murk has invaded our land,

and we must ward our minds against it.

 

Wait for the call...

and watch not the hours,

but the tender gears and cogs of our clocks...

and may we reach everything before our world,

crumbles.

 

For a day is coming,

soon...

soon.'

 

  That particular tale is devoted to the curious character I met in the strangest of bars...far away in a forest. We wait, and we watch and we listen.

   I hope you are all flying ahead of your storm, with the wind behind you and new wings upon your back. Take it away.

   Much Love,

     Miss CLScarlett xx



 

 

 

The Whisper in the Deep Blue...



We stand on the cliff edge...

stare into the swirling abyss,

we scream into the wind and storm...

we fall to our knees,

beat our hands until they bleed...

until there's nothing left ,

but bleeding bones and silt...

 

We dreamt that our wings were torn off,

and that barbed ropes,

were placed about our wrists...

we were paraded and possessed,

they fed our memories...

to the memory sharks.

 

We differentiate between madness...

and chaos,

and in the end...

whose the clown?

 

One night past ten...

I heard the call,

heard the Rain Wolf Relshka...

madly howl through a crack in the door.

 

 

 

I went out into the pouring rain...

hid myself in the shadows and mint,

and repeated my name backwards...

I dug in the wet soil,

and cracked my fingers against the stone...

tore up the moss-worn roots,

and dislodged all the stones... 

I found something that glinted silver,

and the briefest shades of blue...

a case with the symbol of a seahorse,

rusted and cold as ice...

dirty in hue.

 

I saw Relshka materialise...

out of the rain and wind,

I saw him bow his head to me...

and his eyes glowing faded green,

he bade me open the box...

Within and laid against timber,

stood a teacup...

a bowl of sand,

and a clock...

I looked up to ask,

what they were for...

what I should do,

yet already the breeze had whisked him away.

 

I knew however...

what had to be done,

I threw the sand...

into the blizzard within the teacup,

and dropped the timepiece inside...

I stared into the depths of that wilderness,

and saw some images on the sly...

 

 

 

A growling that rose from beneath the ground,

a single brown feather...

lost in the grey dirt,

a million small boats...

lost in a raging cyclone,

and the stripped leaves of an Oak tree.

 

All are swept away...

in the ashes of the wind.

 

True Time.

Chime...

 

We are lost...

we weaved a space through the cosmos,

and hammered out patterns in the Heaven's...

we built bridges through the dimensions,

and held council with celestial beings...

The Sun burnt symbol's upon our hearts,

and our bones were ground to dust...

we wore the cloaks,

of disillusion-unwise...

and despaired,

even as we persevered...

through our swamps.

 

We answered the call long ago...

and sometimes we wish,

that we had had the strength...

to cut our ears from us,

when we found out...

what was coming.

 

There was however...

no stopping it,

and time has a hand...

in our lives.

 

So we dance and dancedancedancedance....

 

A mouse opened its' eye,

a great Queen decided to cry...

a myth became a terror,

and the strangest of hands...

have choked us dead.

Now we are the river.

 

 

 

 

 

  I work, write and sleep each day away...right now I'm staring at and feeling a world of trees. Trees made from golden and green light and a wind that sounds like the ocean.

 

   One day very very soon...I'm going to be free of all these shackles. Free to live my life in a different way.

   My book becoming published has been put on hold for now, until I can afford the cost of getting the story professionally proofread.

 

   I hope you are all finding peace of some kind today.

 

go ripzinma oxpsu... (New Rubaleen)

 

 

 

  I love you all....

 

 

Miss CLScarlett xx

 



Black Butterflies...

The Winter Trail has Ended...

 

 

I follow the Autumn leaves,

down the pale road...

and I see mirrors in the buildings,

by my side...

 

In some it shows,

not me...

not our now-daerk eyes,

no...

it shows faces,

millions of other faces...

strange grey beaches,

where black-haired creatures crawl...

where the ocean sings softly,

through the jetties...

where houses warped by time and salt,

hum with a thousand tiny bells...

Cruel lands where man, woman and child,

were caught in a waking dream...

and lost.

 

 

I turn from the mirrors,

travel on...

past empty rooms,

and lonely songs...

one tune I follow up an alleyway,

I glimpse a gramophone...

old and dusty,

and the wink of bright eyes...

hidden behind,

a hear the softest of mad drumbeats...

and the slinky movement of a figure,

there in the shadows...

the wicked grin of wolf teeth.

We flee from the alley...

and out onto the street,

We walk on...

we feel the hearts,

decaying in our chests...

and we wrap time closely about us,

and rest.

The morrow day...
we strap on our wings...
stand up in the cold dawn,
and draw our swords...
we grin our crooked smiles,
into the howling wind of sunrise...
raise our feathers wide,
and leap into the gold.

 

 

 

  Set free the Black Butterflies dearests...

 

Much Love,

   Always...

 

Miss CLScarlett xx