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Starfall

StarfallLiquid lights fall over me, drenches all of me, I’m not worthy of such empathy, what have I done to deserve it? – – They leave the sky burning, the sun comes upon as a liquid amber fury and it burns, it scorches my veins and eyes.
Dear sun: Why are you so angry?
And how do you know the anger I feel?
Where is this gentle warmth you used to give me as a present every morning? Please don’t burn me anymore.

The sun goes away to the horizon that belongs to him this time, the lady moon comes to try and comfort me in a cool embrace with the ocean breeze. Dear moon: Can you help me?
Can you save me?
Why do you calm my rages from afar?
How do you know what to say?

She tells me to hush, to sleep a dreamless sleep, rest and learn from the hurt, don’t let it hurt you, sleep, rest, forget and protect. — Nature has always reflected nature, while dead stars fall blazingly from the sky, in depths perhaps darker than space itself, more clandestine than the entire span of universe. A starfall is like watching a thousand miracles happen, falling stars like little tokens of liquid light for everyone of us, many wishes that they could fulfill. I guess I’m just trying to say that a falling star still falls down.

 

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Mortality.

walk the night“Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

Not idly do all the leaves of trees fall, for not it is always an evil doom that’s set in their path. And yet I know not how I should speak of those. When I first look upon them, unhappiness can be perceived, like an old white flower standing straight and proud, shapely as a lily and yet so hard, suddenly falls. Easily reminding of the latest days of me.

Late after sunset, I speak to the darkness, alone, in the bitterness of the night, when all life seems to be shrinking and the walls closing in about me, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in.

Everytime before dawn I wake to the same dark hour of the night, nearly morning, yet it’s like going away on journey long without a word spoken, from crueltyland to western shore, from northern waste to darkling woods, walking at my own will, though. As my shoes lead me through the sorrow, not a single healing hand is in sight, and my back is beneath all the load of a burning brand, like a weary pilgrim on the road.

I fear that the time may come when none will return, when there will be need of valour without renown, for none shall remember the deeds that are done in the last defence of my home. Yet the deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.

Well, here at last, in the ache of those who are dead, I am beginning to feel old, I feel it in my heart of hearts. It’s been badly preserved indeed. I feel all thin, sort of stretched against the clock, if you know what I mean, like butter scraped over too much bread. This doesn’t feel right. Many that live deserve death but many that die deserve life and I cannot give it to them, so how am I entitled to deal out death with my poor judgement? I have not much hope left, that I will be cured of this before I die, but there is a chance of it, for good or ill, before the end.

Sometimes, to get away from the pain and sorrow I like to think of myself at the sea, white gulls crying, the wind blowing and white foam flying whilst round the sun is falling, under cloud and under star, then turn at last to home afar along with the breeze or with the music welling underground from invisible hollows quavering and sound by sound, sighing, whispering, wavering that there’ll be a time when the world is relieved of hurts and mischances…

Wandering far in my mind, where the leaves have fallen, I can grasp at moonbeams glistening, lightly fleeting of off the ground, leaving me lonely still to roam, in the silent shadows of the night. Long has been the way that fate me bore, long ago he passed away, and yet I cannot see him. I cannot see him.

wonderful

read, just for a few minutes.

take a few deep breaths [even if you don’t want to breathe]. listen to the pitter-patter of your heart beating in your ears and feel your pulse racing. taste the silence of the world; see the anxiety take over you.

close your eyes and look at the black, look at the black until you see something worth holding onto inside of yourself. wait until breathing doesn’t feel like a losing game and then open your eyes,

and listen.

.

look, you are wonderful. you remind me of a lullaby in winter, sung like a secret not meant for anyone to know; but it’s a shame, because you’re the most beautiful song.

maybe you’re fireworks that sparkle and light up a summer sky – but unlike fireworks, you’ll keep glowing into forever.

or maybe you’re just you, and that’s more than enough.

i know there’s magic in the world.
[you’re proof.]

.

i’d give you a rainbow if it erased the gray days; i’d give you a mirror if it made you see how wonderful you really are.

i’d drain the oceans if it would erase your fears, and i’d package hope and paint smiley faces on the trees if it’d make you smile. i’d send you a nightlight if it would do away with all the nightmares. i’d free fall with you if it made you feel less alone.

[and at the end of the fall, we could lay in our beds and wish just to be wishing, hope just to be hoping,
and at the end of it all, i’d offer you my hand to help you up.]

.

sometimes i think to myself as an empty house, standing alone and hiding behind lies one bothers to look past. locked windows and doors are meant to keep the world away,

but hey:
if i only had one key,

i’d give it to you

.

listen:

i trust you with all my heart and i love you.

Noviembre

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Y me acabo de enterar de que sigue Noviembre. El otoñal frio me cobija junto al perro ladrador, el de las costillas rotas, y sobre la colcha roja hay hojas secas caídas de un árbol, uno que sembré a finales del año pasado, no lo he regado mucho, pero ocasionalmente florecen destellos magenta, las corto antes de que mueran y acomodo en líneas verticales para mantenerlas congeladas, decía; además del frio, que el otoño nos trajo conflictos emocionales; que van en tren.

Ya van lejos eh.

Es más me adelante a decir que ya termino mi Octubre.
Hubo palabras que se borraban a luz de luna y se transcribieron en silencios, tan pausados y llenos de puntos suspensivos, ahora mi amanecer es Noviembre uno que empieza con la noche temprana, que se abraza de la persiana pensante, pasante…

Mend

Time passes in a slow sundown and I think to me of all this madness and debris as I slowly loll my head stuck onto a sutured body I’ve mended. Brilliantly, it comes off sweet and charming reflecting lights all over the place. My eyes are perhaps as difficult as self introspection when looking at a mirror. The spiteful mistake of ruining one’s self-esteem. A grace novelty pours off up the clouds where everything was storms, chaos, and with a broken heart your sight ignores it, lets it walk away because deep inside you there’s no room for compassion. Potentially you’re a crippled and twisted piece of numbness.

Through the lush and undiscovered I kick away fragility for a moment and I notice this shining newness. It burns my eyes like a cigarette’s fireball although painless; thus leaving my mind shattered by my bloodstream. All I see I can’t believe. How does life come to take shape in the middle of a death scene? Certainly I don’t know. The only thing to do is accept, not resign but to accept the facts without the condolence of leaving pride by the emptiest corner in the room, alone to die.

Unwind my dearest dear, I grant thy the warmest welcoming in history. Find your peace, feel the light break through the clouds and fire up at distant towns because I’ll have come and gone with you. No more woe to you. Get held. Disrobe, please come to bed and only then the minions of the outer God shall summon the mist, the one to blind the whole planet for only you and me to see this interlude.

Nevertheless, a last home recording might be enough proof to default the string we share; like a failsafe to attach our sprawling precious lovingness into the end of times. One little seed in the mechanised glow of nature, kind of like a code against the gone, to replace them, perhaps? Or just to leave a piece of what once made us so greatly even.

The mist is fading, we’ve conquered a little victory, music is as paradise as your kisses to perfection. Don’t retreat, we’ll never go down to sorrow again because these are the things you can’t unlearn: The fall of math. The odds have laughed at missed calculations. Energy has been destroyed in front of Einstein’s eyes and God is laughing at humanity’s perspicacity.

This is a moment of stillness, the point of no return, a remaining light in a lifetime, and upon awakening, we’ve mended.

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