04-18-2015, 01:40 PM
Each season passing, I see the change in others’ eyes.
They feel the seasons and hear the natural calls of their world.
I attempt to walk beside them, unable to discern the rhythm of their purpose, my touch numb to what they have felt.
Their bright eyes absorb all hue, leaving the monochrome backdrop
my only vantage into their dull and sodden world.
I see only the grays they leave behind.
Continuing infinitely, death begins its approach,
all color lost, apathy now my only companion.
I recount my memories unto myself as I wait patiently for the coach. I knew that it would soon be along for the journey. The memories are loose and vain, almost invasions of who I want to be. There was neither happiness nor fondness tethered to them. They are empty.
Of course, the coach is late.
As I wait, I walk to the edge of the cliff and peer at the angry waves crashing against the abused rocks below. I wonder what it would feel like, to fall, to touch those angry waves.
They probably feel gray, like everything else.
I cast the weighted memories into the fog, the only thing I hear is the faint splash of their landing in the frigid waters below. Though they are gone, the outline of their visage remains. Perhaps one cannot truly rid themselves of such things.
I hear the coach in the distance and know that it is on approach; it will be here soon.
I am ready for this to end.
There is now another sound that I cannot discern. As it draws closer, my heart beats faster, I have never experienced a sensation like this before.
Nothing could prepare me for the spectacle that was to come, the change that would so profoundly, immediately, and almost incomprehensibly reshape my days.
I wait.
Silence, then, I hear it again.
I had heard a song, it was you, walking nonchalantly in the distance. Your hair played the chorus as the fabric that flowed from your body filled in the melody. As you drew near, the opus of your life drew to a crescendo and once I witnessed your eyes, their forte fulfilled the prophecy of the clef; in this moment, miracles became real to me. Every note perfection; almost effortlessly, your harmony reshapes the broken world with its gentle will.
As I look, I immediately turn away, dazed, facing toward the ground. For a moment, I am unable to look again, it became hard to breathe, color now rushed into the once dead world, painting all that was lost.
Life again became the backdrop of everything that stretched out before me; humbled, it was hard to comprehend.
The coach arrived and I waived it onward hoping for something, anything.
Unsure, I muster the strength and approach you. I know, however, this new strength is not my own; unsure of its origin, I accept it as a gift.
Fortuitously, we immediately know that we have great need for each other. It is obvious to me that I need you more; however, I retain this selfish secret.
Enchanted, I take in everything. I absorb your presence like the thirsty ground absorbs the spring rains. With each passing moment, I watch you and learn your happiness.
Each sound uttered from your breath is sacred. With each syllable spoken, I am brought closer to you, to life and God. As though it were nothing, you fix everything wrong with my once dismal world.
Your spirit, angelic in its form, forces the unclean to be cast out by your noble perfection. Only paradise remains in your presence. Days pass; yet, time is frozen.
Each time I see your face, still, new colors come alive, and I become euphoric as I again witness them dancing in the October foliage where the glimmer of hope was once missing. As you enter their domain, their joy cannot be hidden.
There are hints of green, in-waiting, as the world again begins its slumber. The remaining slivers of red and gold, shimmer slightly under the sun and prepare to rest as fall gives its goodbyes and promises to return. With each breath, I can feel that all of my senses have been returned to me, I remember that I am alive, I feel the joy of completion.
For a moment, I close my eyes and listen to your footsteps as they give hope to the fallen leaves resting atop the forest floor. Your presence reminds them that with each rain comes change and a chance for their lives to begin anew. Even the fallen know, that to know you, is to be blessed. As they wait for the inevitable, they find peace.
They know they are blessed.
They are grateful.
I know that I am blessed.
I am grateful.
From the monochrome, color has returned.
They feel the seasons and hear the natural calls of their world.
I attempt to walk beside them, unable to discern the rhythm of their purpose, my touch numb to what they have felt.
Their bright eyes absorb all hue, leaving the monochrome backdrop
my only vantage into their dull and sodden world.
I see only the grays they leave behind.
Continuing infinitely, death begins its approach,
all color lost, apathy now my only companion.
I recount my memories unto myself as I wait patiently for the coach. I knew that it would soon be along for the journey. The memories are loose and vain, almost invasions of who I want to be. There was neither happiness nor fondness tethered to them. They are empty.
Of course, the coach is late.
As I wait, I walk to the edge of the cliff and peer at the angry waves crashing against the abused rocks below. I wonder what it would feel like, to fall, to touch those angry waves.
They probably feel gray, like everything else.
I cast the weighted memories into the fog, the only thing I hear is the faint splash of their landing in the frigid waters below. Though they are gone, the outline of their visage remains. Perhaps one cannot truly rid themselves of such things.
I hear the coach in the distance and know that it is on approach; it will be here soon.
I am ready for this to end.
There is now another sound that I cannot discern. As it draws closer, my heart beats faster, I have never experienced a sensation like this before.
Nothing could prepare me for the spectacle that was to come, the change that would so profoundly, immediately, and almost incomprehensibly reshape my days.
I wait.
Silence, then, I hear it again.
I had heard a song, it was you, walking nonchalantly in the distance. Your hair played the chorus as the fabric that flowed from your body filled in the melody. As you drew near, the opus of your life drew to a crescendo and once I witnessed your eyes, their forte fulfilled the prophecy of the clef; in this moment, miracles became real to me. Every note perfection; almost effortlessly, your harmony reshapes the broken world with its gentle will.
As I look, I immediately turn away, dazed, facing toward the ground. For a moment, I am unable to look again, it became hard to breathe, color now rushed into the once dead world, painting all that was lost.
Life again became the backdrop of everything that stretched out before me; humbled, it was hard to comprehend.
The coach arrived and I waived it onward hoping for something, anything.
Unsure, I muster the strength and approach you. I know, however, this new strength is not my own; unsure of its origin, I accept it as a gift.
Fortuitously, we immediately know that we have great need for each other. It is obvious to me that I need you more; however, I retain this selfish secret.
Enchanted, I take in everything. I absorb your presence like the thirsty ground absorbs the spring rains. With each passing moment, I watch you and learn your happiness.
Each sound uttered from your breath is sacred. With each syllable spoken, I am brought closer to you, to life and God. As though it were nothing, you fix everything wrong with my once dismal world.
Your spirit, angelic in its form, forces the unclean to be cast out by your noble perfection. Only paradise remains in your presence. Days pass; yet, time is frozen.
Each time I see your face, still, new colors come alive, and I become euphoric as I again witness them dancing in the October foliage where the glimmer of hope was once missing. As you enter their domain, their joy cannot be hidden.
There are hints of green, in-waiting, as the world again begins its slumber. The remaining slivers of red and gold, shimmer slightly under the sun and prepare to rest as fall gives its goodbyes and promises to return. With each breath, I can feel that all of my senses have been returned to me, I remember that I am alive, I feel the joy of completion.
For a moment, I close my eyes and listen to your footsteps as they give hope to the fallen leaves resting atop the forest floor. Your presence reminds them that with each rain comes change and a chance for their lives to begin anew. Even the fallen know, that to know you, is to be blessed. As they wait for the inevitable, they find peace.
They know they are blessed.
They are grateful.
I know that I am blessed.
I am grateful.
From the monochrome, color has returned.