Apr 2014
The sound of running water is soothing.
Ritualistic, by nature, it just flows and pools until it stills, to be able to reflect back a scene that is silent, if you stay frozen long enough, staring, it captures a picture like a photograph. Still, unmoving…
Inside the steam that rises is like an early morning fog that delights the human eye because it can’t see beyond the ugliness that lies outside its door. Inside the fog, a whole new world is created. Something else, becomes more…
In the silence of the water no longer running and the steam that evaporated and has taken away the message from the mirror that you wrote, who knew it would run away to hide?
There is now the choice of a weapon of disposal. A choice that would forever be the marking of a soul, never caring, will never take a side.
Standing in front of a still whisper of water that is ready to receive a body that is intrinsically woven within its own fabric and ready to step back into a time when it was just, was... a time when it ebbed and flowed and could just be…
As a sacrifice, the robe drops from naked skin, dancing, floating, to pool at feet that have walked through fire, have been burned by ice, that have traveled a road that should have never been walked and ended up with photographs, of things, that nobody, NOBODY, should ever have to dream (as nightmares) let alone live, or see…
Sinking below tepid water to wash away every sin that has ever been, ever was, or, God Forbid, should ever be. There is horror looking upon sights that most would consider evil or gory, but still they tell their own story.
Looking down through clear, still water, it’s still possible to see, everything, including all imperfection, in all it’s glory.
Taking the weapon of choice, a razor sharp edge, like a sword that has been swung to defeat all its foes, it is forged by the fires of Hell to cut through skin and bone, to bathe the water red, to hide all the imperfections from a sight that is never blind…
It’s not beautiful, but it is bliss, there is no beauty inside a world that takes away a haunted soul that thinks the only way is to make it to the water, to be washed away on a tide of self hope and never think about the shore that it has left behind…
Nov 28, 2010
Ritualistic, by nature, it just flows and pools until it stills, to be able to reflect back a scene that is silent, if you stay frozen long enough, staring, it captures a picture like a photograph. Still, unmoving…
Inside the steam that rises is like an early morning fog that delights the human eye because it can’t see beyond the ugliness that lies outside its door. Inside the fog, a whole new world is created. Something else, becomes more…
In the silence of the water no longer running and the steam that evaporated and has taken away the message from the mirror that you wrote, who knew it would run away to hide?
There is now the choice of a weapon of disposal. A choice that would forever be the marking of a soul, never caring, will never take a side.
Standing in front of a still whisper of water that is ready to receive a body that is intrinsically woven within its own fabric and ready to step back into a time when it was just, was... a time when it ebbed and flowed and could just be…
As a sacrifice, the robe drops from naked skin, dancing, floating, to pool at feet that have walked through fire, have been burned by ice, that have traveled a road that should have never been walked and ended up with photographs, of things, that nobody, NOBODY, should ever have to dream (as nightmares) let alone live, or see…
Sinking below tepid water to wash away every sin that has ever been, ever was, or, God Forbid, should ever be. There is horror looking upon sights that most would consider evil or gory, but still they tell their own story.
Looking down through clear, still water, it’s still possible to see, everything, including all imperfection, in all it’s glory.
Taking the weapon of choice, a razor sharp edge, like a sword that has been swung to defeat all its foes, it is forged by the fires of Hell to cut through skin and bone, to bathe the water red, to hide all the imperfections from a sight that is never blind…
It’s not beautiful, but it is bliss, there is no beauty inside a world that takes away a haunted soul that thinks the only way is to make it to the water, to be washed away on a tide of self hope and never think about the shore that it has left behind…
Nov 28, 2010
