Fables and Revelations

Life me up in the torrid rain, amidst the sick and the dying, the lost and the wounded. I have been sitting among the people whose stories are the beginning of the end, where the story ends and the rainbow fades into the crystal clear blue sky. They sit some weary of me, some beaming with much light, some just lost in the agony of pain with their sun long gone out. I look at their little souvenirs of their journey of miles, of life in four seasons, a beautiful surprise, tickle against the white washed walls, on their desk and chairs. There is so much left to say in their hands and their eyes. I’ve been running across dark blue-carpeted corridors in these shoes that are two sizes too big, and feel like they have been stuffed with bits of concrete. Awful things they are but they are all I could afford right now. It’s strange how things serve to remind me time and time again the value of life and living. The bomb scare at Heathrow last August, transatlantic aircraft plot gave me the jitte...

Found this in my drafts folder from 2007 Life me up in the torrid rain, amidst the sick and the dying, the lost and the wounded. I have been sitting among the people whose stories are the beginning of the end, where the story ends and the rainbow fades into the crystal clear blue sky. They sit some weary of me, some beaming with much light, some just lost in the agony of pain with their sun long gone out. I look at their little souvenirs of their journey of miles, of life in four seasons, a beautiful surprise, tickle against the white washed walls, on their desk and chairs. There is so much left to say in their hands and their eyes. I’ve been running across dark blue-carpeted corridors in these shoes that are two sizes too big, and feel like they have been stuffed with bits of concrete. Awful things they are but they are all I could afford right now. It’s strange how things serve to remind me time and time again the value of life and living. The bomb scare at Heathrow last...

The air is as warm as the touch of heat from a wintry fireplace. No matter how I wish I was home again, it’s okay because it would take eternity to think that what I did was an unearthly decision, even at very steps of judgement day. I have no regrets, as much as I miss my fabulous family and friends at home, I know that this bond is strong and certain as the morrow winds. I have made some wonderful friends these past months that have really helped and gave me the support that I needed in times of trials and tribulations. Like General Joy, I wipe the tears from my eyes and kiss the whispering air. I am happy. Despite still having some trials ahead, I am at peace with my life and not a communist marching band. I can hold the fort, not struggling with sweat and feeling crushed.

We are all made of sand and stars, the dust that looms through the universe, the breath of planets and seeds of the sun. I watch the setting sun and listen to the silent whispering of the beings as they wraith through the walls downstairs. Voices like birds. A giggle like a tiny girl. Exasperation and frustration. More giggles? I miss the orbiting stars and the racing sand as it dissipates from my hands, down the folds of my skin, down to the soft powder of silicon below. Screams amidst the giggles. Sounds like fun. I wonder just wonder what it would be to be home again.