Alone speaks like a great somber rain

a work in progress

Alone spreads its vast hands across my tundra like the digits of reptiles slithering past my defenses and finding my heart squeezed breathless by its force of tide. I am washed like sea and stain. Like sand and no solace. I forever tumble to the wake of its frigid ache. Eyes see nothing past its magnitude. Its sheer size eats up my defenses and leaves my being in a virtual agony, a beaten glory of pure nothing.

Summer wind breathes on my cold innards like a melting snow. I sting like backwards nightscapes upon a far horizon. Seeking those soft petals of crimson rose, I reach. Yet summer is illusive like some gypsy dancing under night water skies.

Oh how it’s dark seethes alive like lizards on a cracked stone. Blood red, its rusty icecaps leave the shoreline raw. Alone…wily it is. My exhale upon empty lips spills like a broken feather to the earth, seeping its death to my birthing hips.

Alone….how the word echoes on my solitary lashes. Stings…it stings like a scorpions wailing cry. It swells like deliverance and breeds like bones on a skeleton. I…it is always I who lingers on its coattails, riding its freezing wind, and dying on the empty of its somber rain.

It started like a fresh born babe, only its dark face glowed like the stark fires of a small hell. I was young then, just out of my element. I tasted the first lick of innocence. Its power was strong, like nothing since. I found myself surrounded by the bloom of such a tremendous burgeoning. It welled within me discreetly from the first, hollowed round my cells like a black thing. Holding devils tails and angels wings as it spread through my childish veins.

OH to only hold the fleeting sip of wind. It blows by like a sickly caress on your dying tongue and you are left bereft of its benefit. The longing was inexplicable, really. I was wounded, yet, was so unaware. I only knew I surrounded my sutured soul with dissonance and the naked leak of moonbeams that were such a beautiful shatter in my young dusk.

To whom do I pray, I wondered then, in my bucolic battle of startled and unrecognized recognizance. I was the great white keeper of murdered faith. Ah, yes, the fine fingers of hypocrisy. It danced a merry samba across my undeveloped chest and my frightened eyes. I searched near and far, to the depths of earths pits, like a scavenger seeking its last treasure. I found the isle of alone there just waiting and it breathed its soured stench on my temples bleak as December rain. It soaked my heart with its sopping river of stones. That was when I think I finally died. I wake as another, yet breathe as the same. Strangely, it all makes such sad and perfect sense to my scrambled mantra of demise.

So the story goes….

A child can only account for so much. Their attention is caught on the next big thing. They are unexplainably full of spring and waiting on the edge of footfall to catch the fireflies dancing. Yes, they are beauty in their apple cheeks and nimble limbs. It is only in the hands of adults that innocence is ripped. Truly, they are treasures of peach skin and doe eyes, taking on the world in such large ways. Convinced they are that truth will always come and justice shall prevail.

Alas….truth is not always the pretty thing tied into white bows. In fact: truth is rarely neat like lined rows of decorum. It is chaotic and perhaps at times a trifle ugly. Its bulldog face stands out like incisors and large misshapen jawbones. Yet, it has its say eventually, no matter its visage. It stands there in its righteous speech and trembles an octave higher. I sigh, when thinking of how brutal it can be.

 to be continued.....

Reviews

[Tommy]

Now this is how the art of prose should be displayed! Wow! This is a trip through life showing it in its raw nature, not overbearing with shock, but true to reality in your metaphors. I Love it! My favorite verse if you will or paragraph:

“It started like a fresh born babe, only its dark face glowed like the stark fires of a small hell. I was young then, just out of my element. I tasted the first lick of innocence. Its power was strong, like nothing since. I found myself surrounded by the bloom of such a tremendous burgeoning. It welled within me discreetly from the first, hollowed round my cells like a black thing. Holding devils tails and angel’s wings as it spread through my childish veins.”

This piece is not that long, but when you read it engulf you, the reader feels like they have read an epic…A fav for sure!

Great Write!
RLG,
Tommy

[JelliFyshKissUs]

Oh.... my.... gawd....
If there was ever a prose to beseech the divine spirits of heavenly splendor to read, it would be this. Your words, your words, your words. I feel myself having an illicit affair with them. Running off and eloping with your phrases because they possess such refreshing uniqueness. You, my dear, are a paragon. Set apart by the patterns of speech that shape you ink spills. I'm gushing, I know. But you woo me. You are simply stunning in black against a white backdrop that cannot contain you. My veins are boiling with a desire to say more, but I simply can't. It is too much. You truly woo me with your words.

[roarke]

pretty much leaves you speechless.

There's a beauty swirled through this, elegance, yet a dark weight, a spiced herbal, a heat and smooth cold. Like drinking a fine glass of wine, letting the liquid enter you, trying to savor it before it's effects enrapture your mind.

the imagery is suburb like a Frazetta or Howard Pyle illustration. The story's tapestry woven like a refined Robert E. Howard.

A sumptuous portend.

[NOSGALA]

WOW! 90 and not 100 simply because 100 is theoretically impossible... but I'm really starting to wonder. Again: WOW!

[Robin]

I've read this a couple of times and I am just swept upward into its ponderous atmosphere of thought . Alone - where one is brutally isolated or , within the right light - take on the glow of self-awareness - a peace called solitude

[E.H. Monroe]

M**********r..Ive had my think hat on all day and really needed to rear back for this one..hold on let’s try and wrestle with this big b*****d

The idea of alone having these huge arms, more vast than the sea and the landscape that you paint is goddamn frightening notion and even more so for those who have lived in its space. The best part is we may all be always in it, just have no idea how we got here. Balls out mind numbing.
You go from its embrace to riding behind it, which to me said here I’ll give you a goddamn hug now you actually become a part of that loneliness hanging off its a*s like a plump hemorrhoid.
We all died that first time yeah? We have the reborn attitude, the mantra of never again which is horseshit, it just makes it easier to spot, but none the easier to escape…captured here in piquant “proetry”
And the envy of the kids…doesn’t it just make ya angry? I mean, true they will be snagged up sooner or later and you wanna warn em, but instead you’d just be the creepy f*****g “adult” who freaks their s**t while against the sandbox. The kids, ready for the world and have no idea how big and cruel it is. Keep em rosie…and pray for the future.
The deeper truth is the wrap up. That ol search for actual truth, the age old debate on what came first the happiness or the depression. Well I can’t tell ya which did, but I can tell you depression has about 200 lbs on truth and a hell of a right hook.
S**t at this point the message wasn’t even the point..it was where the piece took wheoever wrote. Slice the hands off whoever just said “nice piece, great work.” F**k em stupid…this thing had more levels than space invaders..

Ho Ho

[Forest Green]

To me the beginning section of this, making up 3/4ths of the piece is the world through a child's fragmented, unrefined vision. While many times such youngness sees the world more clearly than some adults, if their days are marred and emotions tripped up heartlessly, this vision becomes distorted and bereft of pure happiness. I believe the paragraphs, the term, well portray the kaleidescope of feelings and the fantasma of broken dreams.
The final two paragraphs seem a more precise, mature grasp upon the realities in play; though solutions are never easily determined, the search for completion continues anabated with a true force of will.

Nice work...!