SerenadeOmega

I remember when everything seemed easier than now, So long ago at it feels like but a wisp of memory. Recalling times in my childhood years, tossed about inside, Tumbling like leaves in the wind, strewn about within Crevices of myself, containing fragments of who I was, Minute keys to the future of who I would become. Looking back to the first friends I had, no secrets to keep, Never looking back, wondering if there was something more. Reflecting on days long gone, before problems like Fears, concerns, worries about what others see in me, Placed alongside what they seen in the world itself, Predating all these aspects of my life a

Laying in bed staring up at the ceiling, Staring at the dots above like drifting clouds, Cool air circulating around me: Calm, cool darkness permeates the air. Birds drifting across the sky, an endless wave of wings a-flutter, streaking across a mass of clouds, suspended like marshmallows floating in a sea of hot chocolate. Blue stolid planes of shifting silence moving across the celestial sphere. Closing in around my head, forms of suffocating fear. Crushing... heavy... cold. Head resting on a pillow of stone. Arms folded across my chest. All is still - lost within the dark night.

A ray of light falls from the window perched above, within the wall, glass shut tight to bar the shadows, drapes drawn in to bar the cold. Intensified by the lofty lens, the pungent stream cuts through to earth, where lie those who dwell in darkness, knowing not of wisdom's worth. Pierce the eyes of drifting wanderers, shifting through the mire of men, lifting them from muck to substance, blinding them to earth's entrapments, shattered past now burns away, melted down and cast anew, giving life from death's decay. Insulated from life's quarrels many now would call him mad, rebuilding life now brick by brick, nothing left of

Tower stands resolute, above all the gloom, within I am standing, glaring down on the world. Reaching for me, your words full of strength, giving me wings and lifting me up and higher still, as your hand draws me into the sun, like winding threads of fate, spun in your tapestry, our song, my endless journey. The flames of the sun spinning around me, warming me down through the bones, to the soul. Each step draws further into the fire threads to be singed as textile unfolds. Licking across the tattered cloak, wildfire yearning the tattered cloak, wildfire yearning for constant fuel, moves to the flesh and engulfs therein. Charre

Pouring myself out onto the page, words forming as the rain forms pud-                                                      dles on the