The deepest shade of woe....

It seems to me, that with this, my philosophical ranting had an affair with some beat poetry and the resulting piece was hand raised by my descriptive paragraphs? oh my....

The deepest shade of woe that blooms like august leaves in a blaze of fire and flame, spreading like the warmth of the sun in the most devastating sort of glee.

The world coming to an end right before our eyes in the most brilliant display of fireworks and roman candles, sparkling and exploding with millions of pops and bangs, like the end of a revolver, one life at a time extinguishing and flickering out into the nothing of space.

A Clunk, there it drops with a hollow fall to the floor and it sits, dust collecting like a gray blizzard of animosity and silent regret. And the shadows crawl and cling about the wooden box, which may not just be hollow.

The echoing beat of a dead heart that reverberates from within keeping time with the world as it turns, one beat a year then out like a candle on the windiest day of autumn, blowing that leafy fire once more. And a new life comes and is scattered, and it shines like an ancient key on a Scarlett ribbon fluttering in that breeze from the branches of leafless trees. Dying trees, frozen, hollow broken trees.

Once so strong with layers, eaten from the inside out by the malignant little termites of this world, gnawing and chewing and crunching because you can’t stop them and you can’t catch them, and they kill kill kill in an agonizing half life motion of splitting and cracking and then comes the creaking as the tree falls surreally to the ground. Heard by all as that great veteran of a lifelong war falls.

                Thud.

The degrading begins and the decomposing ensues, and the corpse of the warrior is slowly consumed. Lightning strikes the dry weathered skin and catches a flame, and the warrior is buried in a coffin of wildfire flowers, flickering and licking and eating eating devouring the being that once was so tall and great.

Then the rain falls and extinguishes the blaze, and all that’s left is a strip of burned wood as its legacy fades and fades and disappears into the abyss of memories and stories that old men tell and young people listen and ignore and play and what they don’t know is that they’ll fall someday.

And oh will they fall hard and quick at the axe of some great lumberjack, and all the little birds of blue and brown and that brilliant fiery red will fly away in abandonment. With one feather fluttering in a quiet remembrance, a most heartbreaking scarlet from the phoenix of the wood, and it too will catch fire, and smolder with a furious ember.

And perhaps the fire will be different this time, perhaps the prophecy will be proved wrong with an unexplainable vengeance, and a blue fire of starlight fury will burst forward like the flash of lightning crackling through clouds and sky, and burn burn burn with a vengeful angry naive flame, but flame it’s not, never flame, nothing close, star fire with the moons blessings of wisdom. Inspiration and creativity in a constant glowing flow.

The closer to the center, the hotter the passion, the lust, the desire. Like a fine lover pulling ever closer, skin to skin and fire to flame.  Twinkling eyes reflecting moonlight and iridescent rainbows of color flicker in their depths, transfixing and holding and entrancing like a chicken before a snake, unwavering intensity, unbearable to the average mind. And in that instant past, I could have nearly forgotten as his eyes once more faded to the deepest shade of woe.

 

 

Reviews

[JRB]

nicely done great write

wow. I mean.....wow. this is just a fantastic heart wrenching piece. It flows along like a symphony of thought not even close to a rambling. Just amazing visuals and the feeling that I ran through while reading this. I mean wow. I am left with a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye (yes for real) Despit it all you really hit your stride with. " Then the rain falls and extinguishes the blaze, and all that’s left is a strip of burned wood as its legacy fades and fades and disappears into the abyss of memories and stories that old men tell and young people listen and ignore and play and what they don’t know is that they’ll fall someday.
And oh will they fall hard and quick at the axe of some great lumberjack, and all the little birds of blue and brown and that brilliant fiery red will fly away in abandonment. With one feather fluttering in a quiet remembrance, a most heartbreaking scarlet from the phoenix of the wood, and it too will catch fire, and smolder with a furious ember. "
That is where it hit me in the chest. the entire story is just one of wonder and want for knowledge that just keeps slipping away leaving you with questions. I just can't say enough. No joke.