Relentless the tide that brings men ashore. Continue reading “Relentless Tide”
I remember heaven.
I remember the glory that reigned there. The peace of it all. I remember being so fulfilled that I thought about nothing. Wanted nothing. Needed nothing. I remember sitting in the mouth of heaven, laughing for no reason at all, other than to let some of the light out of my soul.
I remember hearing it.
I remember heaven.
And I remember heaven cracking.
Remember hearing you calling me.
I remember the moment I remembered that I used to be alive. That I used to have a life. That there were people I loved and respected.
I remembered, then, that I used to have you.
That I left you.
And I remember a voice gently calling me. Asking me if I wanted to try something.
Just for a little while. Just for you.
I remember the day heaven let me go—just for a day, mind you—just so I could visit.
So I could comfort you. Continue reading “Time’s Loss”
There was a quiet song.
A lull in the void.
Static that, when focused, became edging. Drawing. Alluring. A song that gave promise to stars, and hope to blackholes. It punched through the continuum with gusto, displaying feasts and boasting of something sturdy on the edge of the horizon, something soft lurking at the very back of space itself. A river coaxing the fish out to something bigger, something better. A creek hidden in the foliage. A place to replenish when depleted.
There was a quiet song in the universe. One that I thought I heard only in my dreams.
But, that wasn’t so.
The song was real.
And it was beautiful.
It was loud.
And it was true to its word.
The song I followed into the universe…
It was you.
All along, there was only the one source. The one promise. Just the one.
It was you. Continue reading “Melody Beyond Imagination”
We were wolves, basking in the glow of the moonlight. Chasing autumn’s heels as winter froze our game. Hungry bellies that ached beneath the warmth of our fur, our smoking breaths, our hopeful howls. We huddled through the cold, cobbling warmth together with beating hearts and heated blood. When spring came, we were the first to greet it. Singing praises to the melting snow and the blooming life. All things renewed in our meadows, filling us to the brim with new scents, new trails. And we stayed through summer as well, panting through the sun’s burden of heat. Powering through so that we might blend with the colors of autumn once again.
We were wolves.
And things were beautiful.
It was not perfect.
It was not easy.
It was life.
And it was good.
We were wolves. Together under the gaze of the forgiving moon. Hidden along the trees’ shadows, watchful and hopeful with every passing season. Looking forward to the future together with our eyes looking past the skies.
Now I’m unsure.
The foreign scent brings me grief. Filling me to the brim with something akin to summer’s heat, yet, it leaves me empty like winter’s bared teeth. This strange, familiar shape I see…
This change brings a season I’ve never heard of before. Winds that jar my senses with the foreign scent it brings.
And I don’t know anymore.
If we are not wolves…
Who will we be? Continue reading “Forging Seasons”
Curses are never easy to bear.
I hope you know that.
It wasn’t easy to get here.
The path is narrow, full of holes. Every step was marred—echoed, really—by the steps of the jungle beasts. By the creatures of this magical forest. I could hear their cries at night, and feel their eyes watching in the day. At some point, the trees gave up on me, gave in. Began reaching for me, choking up on the path ahead. Trying to prevent me from going forward.
Yes, it wasn’t easy getting here.
Not in the slightest.
When the sleeper wakes…
It will be worth it.
Continue reading “Sleeping Wishes”
Sniffing the air, I catch a whiff of it. Just the tiniest hint.
The tug that follows runs deep. Pulling at my core, my foundation. I can feel the movement of it in the air, in the earth. This was more than a calling. More than an emptiness, or a filling. More than the physical world.
Catching that whiff, feeling that tug, I don’t stand there.
I run, hoping.
Hoping to reach you. Continue reading “Burning Leaves”
I wasn’t sure whose grave I found that day. When I traveled up, into the mountains. When I stumbled upon that clearing, yellowing in the wake of fall. When I found that tombstone, carved, but unmarked. I’m not sure whose grave I found that day. Not at all.
All I knew was:
When I saw it, I was drawn.
And, as I drew closer, I could feel it more clearly.
And, as I felt it more and more, it weighed heavily on my heart.
I felt sad that day. A new mourner to stand in front of the unmarked grave. A new sadness to throw at the foot of the stone.
As I stood there, feeling it—that thick, heavy weight that came with loss, that came from poking around a hole that could never be filled—I was suddenly struck. Filled with determination.
I would be a proper mourner for this stone. For this sorrow I felt. Even if it meant mourning alone.
I was going to come back with flowers.
The very next day, in fact.
And when I came back, I was still unsure of whose grave it was. But, I was glad that I came.
Because I was not the only visitor that day. Continue reading “Mourning Stones Do Not Mourn Alone”
On Halloween, I met someone special.
I met a skeleton. Continue reading “Mournful Bones”
“I don’t believe in fairytales,” he grumbled over the lip of his pint. Already drowning in the liquid, as this wasn’t his first drink.
Hell, it wasn’t even his second, or third.
It was his fifteenth.
I swear, that wolf can really put ’em away.
“I don’ believe in ’em, ya hear me?” He growled, his claws digging into the metal.
“Aye, I hear ya. Drink that up bud, and then be on your way. The hunters will be out soon.”
“Hrggh,” he grumbled.
But he did as he was told. Bless his tired, drunk soul.
Sitting up, he tipped his drink all the way back. Guzzling it like a pro, very little sloshing out the sides of his snout.
When it was gone, he slammed it down like any lad would, wiped his face-fur on his sleeve, threw a few coins down, saluted, and then stumbled his way out the door.
“Is he always like that?” the kid at the bar asked as the wolf tumbled into the night.
I shrugged. “Just when he stumbles across kids in red hoods.”
“What’s he mean, he don’t believe in fairytales?”
I shrugged. Pretended not to know. Then went about my business. Cleaning mugs, refilling drinks.
It was dishonest of me, sure, but.
It wasn’t really my place to tell the kid that the Big Bad Wolf doesn’t believe in himself.