ExoticIndigence

Before her the world: An Immense canvass. Abstractedly the colors swirled before her eyes; indiscernible patterns and likeness: Indefinable She cringed before it in fear, and watched the patterns change. Her every action became a brushstroke, and tentatively did at first her art unfold. Colors coalesced and chaos became ordered. But from this order sprang forth deeper obscurity. It was a labyrinth of of ardor and emotion that carved ever deeper canals, weakening the foundations over which they so carelessly flowed. From time to time these last vestiges of certainty cracked, and crumbled, and fell, leaving nary a trace behind. And yet, unfai

It calls. Light plays through leaves. A holy cascade flickers through the emerald prism, swirling as if possessed by some demon; shedding motes of brilliance. They dance and transform. And with it comes a kind of music, intangible as the wind, whose melody is all consuming in this rapture of the soul. Shadowy tendrils of cold flame flicker, caressing strands of silken darkness. They beckon, from the periphery of vision, where colors contrast and the prism falters in its heavenly crusade. A net is woven from the depths. It snares, entraps, its grasp is endless. It calls.

I look upon their faces, remembering of days past; when once I saw their youthful love, and heard the riotous melody of minds clashing. The hair was dark and free of stains, like ashes of a phoenix, never to be reborn. Eyes once bright and full of hope now live, unseeing, in the past. Old dreams lie scattered like autumn leaves. The rake leans, forgotten, in the shed, and old hopes and passions fly away, upon the wings of severed youth. I watch the decline in silence, a serene melancholia, and think. And think.... But the vision still remains. An infant swept up in the sands of time, it cannot change, it cannot change. And yet I cling to

                                                     Chapter 1 It came from above. He'd been walking along the street when the sirens wailed beseechingly, echoing down the narrow corridor between tall buildings, built in the hauntingly beautiful architecture of Daine. It whooped like a sick bird and, almost coincidentally, the grackles, which had been chirping a moment ago, were no

Light to dark, the shadows lengthen Night birds sing, the pale orb rises The wind blows strong, the blackness dances Mist arises, the night awakens. Living shadows fill the sky Their dance a duet with the breeze And through it all the heavens brighten Making warm the dead blue night The crickets chirp, the frogs do croak The winged folk on dark wings fly And twisted ancients creak and groan Whispering wisdom on the wind That pallid spheres descent begins And takes with it the cloak of shadow Streaks of light, both orange and red Ignite the morn’ with waves of fire The songs of night begin to fade The morning birds awaken