Rain Through the Looking Glass

Slippery shoes against the marble as we sit on the long wooden benches, looking about us as if we have just been born. Our whispers echo off the cavernous walls. We sense we are intruders on this glorious abyss and our voices instinctually taper off. A silence spreads itself over us, muting our thoughts, our heartbeats, our mindless fidgeting, if only for a moment, but in that moment time stands still. We listen, there is nothing. We strain our ears, searching for something we can use to prove to ourselves that it hasn't all stopped. It comes to us from a great distance, almost inaudible, dampened by the sheer volume of the silence.

A sound like no other, a sound we would know anywhere. The sound
of rain.

The drops, they hit the rough surface of the stained glass, reflecting prisms of color through the silence. That which is so deep we'd have to wade through it. The faint echo of the rain slowly fades away, till we are left with a true absence of sound. And we sit and listen to that absence.

Those Days, So Far Away

That was really insensitive, he said.

Insensitive?
Is that all that remains from the memory that brings back the ecstasy of my childhood? That's certainly not how I remember it--it was always a sort of carefree joy unleashed from the soul, for young souls have the least experience but know the most about the intensity of the truth, even if they can't fully understand it. Me and my sis, twirling around in circles in the white light of the morning, spinning to the music that starts as part of the air and soon becomes a part of us. The elation, the rapture, the wonder of those morning hours. Then, it was as much a part of us as our fingers, our toes, our faces, our hearts. It was what we did, it was what we lived for. Apparently it's now different.

I thought maybe you'd remember those days we used to dance, I reply.

A Knock on Inspiration's Door

Dear You,

You know who you are, and it's been awhile. You've been off capturing the flags of the world, partaking in the grand scheme of this compelling and disparaging race of humanity while I sit in this green room, sheltered from those very consummations and iniquities. I've felt your absence as one can only fully appreciate something once it is lost.

It's now I realize your charm, a mystical sense of acquiescence, where life is just an illusion when time stands still.

But now you're back. I will admit I've missed you, probably more than I should. Please, please, don't go away.

All the best,
Now and always,
Me.

As We Unfold Time

I face the sun
squinting
at the fierce glowing sphere
overwhelmingly so,
the prisms dance
in the raw burst of light
My vision explodes

Dandelions
Oh, the dandelions
A slight puff of air
and the seeds fly
off
on the wind
a wish born in the moment
but into the embrace of the world
It flies

Stormclouds and lattes
and driving in the rain
as sheets
fall from the skies
the sound
so indescribable
Just...the sound of rain

Like the flow of words
these moments
will be fleeting
Recognize
Savor them whilst they last
but then
let them go
for they,
always hopeless to trap
except
In memory

Time never waits
when later never exists.

When Senses Collide

Rain and wind defend the bells and the crickets in the midst of cannons;
Pitter-patter, whir, hiss, chime, chirp, boom.
Fresh air mingles with that acrid burning
And drenched to the bone, the merciless fingers of cold
find the chink in our armor.
Cold, exorbitantly cold
So cold we can't feel the cold,
the word loses its meaning,
just a word,
just a sound, like all the others
Till it becomes warmth.
Lost, discouraged, betrayed
yet awed, elated, empowered
from that which we call
Fearless nostalgia.
That's all life is, really
A continuum of contradictions.

C.S.

The Gift of Illumination

My feet lift off the ground at the sidewalk’s curb, but it is a matter of mindless movement, not awareness. I am a tangle of thoughts and emotions that I cannot seem to make sense of, blurred with ambiguity till neither element can be truly identified. Their struggle resides in me, in the scopeless expanse of my mind, in the tight knot of my stomach. I clench my fists as another influx of thoughts hits me, leaving me weighed down by the feeling of hopelessness. All the best knives, no hope. Why? Why is life so cruel?

I am across the street now, safely on the sidewalk. The query dies in my head with the flood of adrenaline; the insecurity fades away like pixie dust and is replaced with a heightened perception.

There’s something about the night, something that consumes rational meaning. All that turmoil…it is suddenly masked. Masked with this darkness that is somehow so alive and alluring and healing, like aloe on a burn.

The cold brings a stinging sensation to my bare skin as my pulse and heart pound to the same wild rhythms. There are few cars on the road—the night could swallow me up and no one would be here to notice. I become my surroundings despite my locomotion—the black sky, the layered shadows on the sidewalk, the streetlamps. Streetlamps. Under each streetlamp, my vision becomes a blazing glow that fades in and out as my feet carry  me on.

The light comes and goes. Einstein said that because cold is only the absence of heat, darkness must be nothing but the absence of light. He was right. The city below glitters like jewels in the distance. And so I find my real savior to be light, because I wouldn’t be able to run free like this is in total darkness.

My All Familiar Gymnast

You say I'm always there
But then
I am always running
Always wandering
With no patience
A flittering, uncertain thing
An impulse

It is you, my dear
You
Who is always there
My fellow muse
My sunshine on a cloudy day
A day I'm tied in bonds
But with that sunshine
And some tanbark, and some sky
You set me free

And so I thank you
For being my friend
For teaching us all
there's always more
than it seems
For the words we exchange
regardless the language,
For the laughs,
the concerns,
the cough drops and smiles,
And for everything
in between.