Fables and Revelations

Swimming on the river that shimmers in the pink of summer, liquid fuchsia roll down her soft supple skin. I watch as she drive into the great unknown, her voice oozing with happiness like the soft centre of a strawberry bubbleyum gum, like the luscious soft centre of a twinkie filling. Her eyes twinkling with excitement as she touches her prize like the millions bulbs in the Christmas lit up in town. I am blind to her presence but I can only imagine the happiness and joy that rolls off her lips. I miss her.

Sitting on the kitchen bench withering away in a beautiful silence, quietly, gently, in a handsome slumber staring out into the world beyond through the glass window. The doorknob, it was cold, hard, metallic, I touched it and froze, the air like a lead balloon. It never felt so cold to touch, drench in the icy depths of the ocean arms, the air was heavy, like a lead balloon and the world stopped, trapped in time for the moment. I couldn’t take another step; I just couldn’t take another step. The thud that my hand had made on the door handle as it refused to budge echoed, like a lone child trapped in a cave dropping her lunchbox. It seemed to have bounced off invisible waves. That moment was traced and memorised in the back of my mind, the unforeseen.

Pies, Kiwis and Company, tells a tale of restless souls, of adventure, battles and sorrows. The humble beginnings of life’s greatest wonders and the sweetest of songs, of preservation and hearts that are so worn out they cannot be carried by anyone, much less be carried alone. See and cherish the soul behind the mirror, the wall, see what is kept hidden and forgiven, the bitterness, grief and loss. A battle that cannot anymore be, as they prepare to pocket the change in their eyes and sail across the lonely river, the silent unbearing light now only a flicker. The strength behind like a thousand giants relentless in their embrace pushing up against the mountains, that rises higher to the heavens with each passing moment.

There always this one question that keeps the hearts weeping like an open sore, that all we have for nothing and all we have loved is just a hollow breath of the dying. The freedom to fly, to heap off the mountains and glad into the stars, to touch the cold lonely moon and touch the dust of tomorrow ours to hold yet do we really know what’s in the heart of another.

I ponder about the times when you don’t miss me, days when you haven’t spared a thought, and days when you refused to compromise. When the archers put themselves through the reigns of hell and the darkness falls in a world where no one makes a sound. I ponder of the world’s end and the shortest night, when life becomes scarce and the moon shatters into a million pieces. When the waters eventually fade into the bare naked grains of sands, I will forever and a day bear you in my soul.

It was when listening to a book who bathed in the blood of the war, when I heard the music breaking the silence like a thunder in a summer sky. The players push pass the wickets and the marching song went on, overwhelming the field. The song trampled on the generations of narcissistic children, who would not yield to the sacrificial light. Those who consume the world and never turn to listen to the beauty of the music around them oblivious to the laughter, the lovers and the dreams before them. People are dying senselessly for reasons unknown and a reality that is surreal. When would eyes become clear to see the waters deep. living in a world of plastic, in a bubble wrap of disbelief and never knew what to feel. Dictated by big brother, you laugh and you cry and become thinner. You moan for the unreal, unknown, unseen with emotions not yours to behold. A city of loneliness, of emptiness and loss. Forward with technology, backward with humanity.

As we watch the world go round and round, we wonder about the way our lives were and are now. How it unfolds like the flowers in spring, wither and disappear into the dusk. So much loss, regret and reminiscence into the wells of the past. There’s just so much to do and so much to say to the people pass. Sitting silently in the moment for the moment and holding on to the moment. Of births and deaths of wars and marching soldiers, how they had given their lives. Pawns of the watchdogs of the old. How they watched the world spin, the lights from a spark now never going out. Luminate their lives. Flesh stripped from their once beauty and soft smooth skin. There’s just some things that cannot no matter how grounded be force to stay pinned to the ground.

Like snow white gracing her prince, she’s dancing on the glass coffin alive on the great divine. Her dreams a flow with life and the sky is filled with the crisp white flowers of spring. Her kingdom now magical in lush morning sun, her dream, finally crystalised. She closes her tired eyes, a tear like a diamond roll down her flawless cheeks into the waters of Avalon that grants forever life. Beautiful is her moment, her hearts bursting with the fires of the phoenix rising high across the constellations of the infinite heavens.

Travelling through the stars and the chilling night sky, everyday feels a little closer to the warmth of the sun. A hope that glistens like the ever burning star breathing life into the galaxy. Feel this weightless world beyond, where the planets spin close to breaking. Can you feel the whispers as it listlessly try to speak, its wishes in the winds and its beauty in the trees. Burning in its fury, it counts the months and the weeks and the days before it slips into the moonless skies.

The test of the morality of a society is what it does for its children. My mind like a blanket of white, like white soft satin sheets spread across a king size bed, unruffled, straight and perfect, lying still in the silence of the songs. Unmoving, just silent, listening to the world, his footsteps heavy as they cross the room, breath heavy with warmth and perspiration. You can smell the heat and the odour of this diseased man, who lumbers under the weight of sorrow and hollowed out from the fires spilling out across the amber skies. Walking towards the musky books, he’s so tired he seems to have gone as far as he could ever get. He can’t see me. I watch as sinks deeper into his watchman’s chair, the pain peeling and the legs just crumbling under his weight. His troubles are one even the devil cannot erase. His notes scattered all over the floor, papers dry and parched, thinned and frayed at the sides penned with ink of old and the script of a ancient’s hand. He can dream of the soulfu...

Lost in the crowd of fleeting hail, peering out through the veils of the diseased man, where were his creatures that played with his time? The voices that kisses his ear and whispers those decaying bitter sweet nothings into his ears, where is his deliverance. Trapped, caged in a putrefying capsule of flesh and blood, of intense fear. The sound of your heart thumping hard and like a slimy red warm frog it starts crawling up your throat. The heat of the room whirls around you and the world seems unbearable, then silence.

I sit back and listen to the soft melodious voice of her and seek the solace of my heart inside. Her voice, like the bittersweet taste of a hot cup of cocoa on a rainy day, smooth, warm, soft like silk slithering down my throat. Like gentle kisses on a summer morning on my belly, the touch of warmth on my skin in the cold lonely winter. Her voice sinks like an anchor within the depths of the deepest blue ocean, into the murky darkness of the beyond. Echoing in my bones, such is the beauty of the song.

Oh so sadly, love brings about the torrid rain and the madness, the insanity that is the shrieking laughter, the drunken stupor, the eyes that reflect the beauty of the moon. Listen to the stories, through the smoke and the wicked smiles as the world toss back her blonde bouncy curls and shower you with earthly delights. Many are stubborn in pursuit of the path they have chosen, few in pursuit of the goal. Friedrich Nietzsche

It's all grey to me, the days of deliverance of peace and tranquility. Falling from the sky like a dove's first flight, from the cage to the womb of wind. Close your eyes, it only takes a second to feel free as the snow white doves flying towards the setting sun. Your body carried by the wind in that pure second of brilliance, of rejuvenation, of joy. Was this in your sober plan, or something just sitting in the back of your mind? What would you really have done? No one knows. Your memories a wavering sea of black and grey, your eyes no more see the lights as they would have been. You struggle not to change and you fight to understand, only to slowly disappear and become forgotten in this cold cruel world. You only want the little things, the familiar things, the warmth of human hands, the love of another, the want of care, to know you are loved and not lost. The world brings her down like an arrow through a dove, red on white, it cripples and cries. Never to kiss the sweetness...