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Within the spans of this world and its concepts of time and reality. A lone some solider is brought to life. Born into a mighty and unique perception of life and body of stature. He travels the world learning the crafts of the past and the present. As he learns his mind is torn with images, thoughts, and feelings only portrayed in the many forms of entertainment. Wondering, waiting, wishing, and hoping for his dreams to come forth. Granting their Hell’s and Graces into this world.
With questions probing every oarfish of his mind, and hallucinogens twisting the visions of his own ambition and the ambition of others. He sits with a mind ready and willing to receive an honest answer, and a calming break in his tempest torn soul he looks far and wide. Digging up the past and reading up on the present. He finds little to nothing for a solution to his problem.
But god willing he will get his answer in time.
“Be careful.” A voice in his head continues to whisper to him. “For the path before you holds a many heartaches, pane, and confusion. And sorrows lie in waiting around every bend. After you have scaled the first mount, and your eyes behold the lustrous hills before you. Your hear jumps in joy and for once your load is easy and light to bear. But all too soon the valleys disappear down one side. Only to rise and clime higher than you. Upon these snowy peeks the cost seams daunting, titanic, an impossible to bear when you look back at your pleasures.”
But in his mind he knows that his lord has gone before him and paved a small but passable road for his feet, and she like his lord is ahead. With her arm’s wide and waiting to bring him close to her.
“Ahh… to hold hr once more… to feel her warmth, smell her intoxicating smells. From her vanilla fruit perfumes, to the jade and lavender flower mixes she adds to her soaps. Along with all of her scents as she passes… to look into her eye’s and know the end is Nye.”
Just as the sharp edge of the icicles’ pierces the skin. The soldier wakes from his dream to once again brave the cold. Carting the tons of fiery brimstone, and thousands of gallons of acidic drink for his daily bread. Fighting through all of his faces of pane and exhausted a small faint smile cuts a short glimpse his path is progressed a few more feet up the snow and ice covered hill side.
But as every thing that has a begging holds an end. So dose his day, though short and a little warming was the sun light. He gladly sets his tent against the dark and once again he lies dormant on the snow. Slipping once again into his world of warmth and love, and in his right hand he clenches tight to an excerpt taken from his favorite book.
“And perhaps hold her close to him if only for a moment.”
To this truth the clings so tightly and fights against the worst this world has to throw at him. For his fondest dream is inscribed on that worn and weathered paper.
“To her my heart is given, sold, offered, and taken it may seem.
But still my love is with her.
My heart, mind, body, and soul.
To you my love, and for you…
I would brave the deepest and darkest corners of the earth.
Just to hear you say.
‘I love you.’ “
 morti_cacciatore · Thu Feb 22, 2007 @ 08:19pm · 1 Comments |
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