8th Testimony- "Dead Flowers"

  

Dear Haides,

As the aging stars fell from the anemic night skies, the hour was gland. The leaves that sunk from the trees were withered and arid-- The leaves of the old oak tree descended onto the dusty grounds. This night was the night of quietness. Silence. Fear. My distraction is the night of the solitary October. This month recounts to my most unremarkable days. 

October is over now. My favorite month had gone away with missed turns. The remarkable times I shall never forget; yet, the wind still blows over every strand of hair on the back of my head. Straightening my head at the crossroads I trim my way down every path.

Hereby, comes November and its rain falling onto the arid, thirsty grounds. The window sill I sat atop all year has become nothing but dust and seeds. There was rarely enough water and rain to grow life bhind this darkened window pane. I have only seen shadows move across the curtains, and somehow I could not get the blinds to shut. Life is confinement; It could be worse, but it could also be better.

Harmonia lately has been improving in her loss of love. She has been recovering and successfully healing like a cocoon hanging off a widow tree that had blossomed into the autumn air. The story of love is not about hibernation, nor is it hidden until everything follows along that path. Sometimes the path of love and commitment may become a wrong turn, or even a dead end. I know for a fact that I have never even stepped foot on that road yet. 

Never. 

I have been called, dark, I have been called evil, and I have been called heartless; Indeed, all that I am, but it is just my cold feet walking on ice. Disheartened, leading me through my every path of courage and spares. I could not waste another pulse through the damage and torture of another presence's mind and soul. 

Being emotionally unstable, Menos had not yet improved on the choices he would want for himself. He could chose others' choices, but not his own. He stopped by my window sill today. I asked him why he lets every small mistake, or something that could not have happened sink him so low? His answer was work. His job and personal life have clashed. Yet, Menos still has the wisdom and intuition that pulls us all on our feet to stop questioning the world. He has most of the answers.

Laden has been aging on the inside lately, and I could see it in his eyes. On the outside it is also starting to show. Ever since the sad loss in his family, he had been taking over as the father of the house. Laden already works twenty four hours a day, everyday his life, so it is a pure kind of blessing he gives us whenever he is able to put away some of his seriousness and work aside to spend time with me. That, in fact is something not everybody would do. Whether it is putting his work to the side, helping his little brother pass school,or taking care of his mother and sister, Laden now stands by his fathers side. By taking his own stances, standing tall, taking full priority and uncovering more actions, he is holding his own ground.

Myron.  I feel like I still owe him so much. I do not deserve the acts of kindness he provides me with, but he still supports me anyway. After Ezra wanted to spare me his life, I did not know what to do. All I knew was I would never want to live that way. So, Myron was there for me every step of the way, making my rough decisions and encounters a lot smoother. All I had to do was speak. And listen. This encounter made my route to trusting a lot bumpier, until I saw something in myself which I have learned, and I never seen in anyone before.  

Convincing myself to love, I cannot seem to be convinced; the day I received the third rose, my heart still stayed dark, pure and ice cold. I have kept it frozen for twenty five hundred and twenty days now. I have yet to climb out of that hole, and still I am afraid to. My gift of self had been raped. No matter what, I will always keep an iron gate between what is inside me and reality. Because it is reality which destroys us the most. Once I get my pair of wings, I may be able to let go and fly one day, I promise you Haides. I promise Myron, Harmonia, Laden, Menos, Sapphira and Reah that I would be able to fly so high that not even the adrenaline of the black hole's gravity can suck me back in. Maybe what Ezra told me is right. I have no heart. I cannot love. He knows me well, then. But for now I shall stay inside this warp hole until I am ready to soar. I would brighten things up a bit more; however, curse me, whenever I do that I always end up being realistic.

Sometimes I sit in my room and close the lights, the doors, and the window sill. But I leave the curtains cracked open and I peer outside. There is no possible way any other human on earth can be so blessed but so cursed at the same time. It cannot get any worse a majority of the time, and if it shall not, it could get very bad. I pulled my curtains with my beak to cover the view outside.

I guess I should stay astray and light this small candle. A little flicker caused a small dim of light to spread across the room. I think the fire has lit my wings but burned them. 

Back to my window still. I am blessed with a curse, many of them too, but I admire it and believe in the realness and goodness of times to come. One does not simply lead themself to pain and enjoy it.  Mentally it is damaging and self-destructive because outside you want to be happy, free and mindless. This is when I share my own time with my anthemis. 

The rain began to pour and tap on my window. I love rain and thunder, the comfort it gives me is unlike any other comfort I have felt. Sunshine and green grass can make one free? I feel like that ship sailed away from me a long time ago. As a kid I would dream of clear, sunny and warm days outside. As I grew older I understood lifelessness more. If I want to free myself, be happy, and insane like the child I used to be, this ball and chain will keep pulling me back down into the depth cracks of my window sill. It feels more comfortable, safer, and less riskier in here. The moment I make love to my anthemis, is when I sit by the old oak tree and ponder. I fell in love with regret and now I make love to hate.

It has been raining for one-hundred and twenty-six minutes now. Even if I announce that I am flying out of my pain, I may be either lying to you or just saying it to make you stop pondering inside my head. Dearest Haides, I do not understand why other birds would always compete in front of my tree, by seeing whom travels the highest, whom soars the furthest. All these wasted efforts are going to be in the graves with us all one day. However, it is something to be remembered by- or completely forgotten for.

My pain is self chosen. Once I grasp something special I always lose it, right when it is in my hands. It crawls under my clawed talons. Stay on it, stand up, stay straight, or stand tall, I keep hearing those voices screaming and fighting each other in my head. Will I slip again under my own feet? Are we all too blind or selfish to understand that nobody really cares about us at all? All they do really care about is what they are after, whether it be pleasure, happiness, success, money… we all use to the above weapon of choices to build over something, am I correct? 

We all use a shovel to bury our past history, but what is underneath that burial mound? Bones, skeletons, our secrets, or faults, perhaps? Either way, nobody seems to care to dig them up. They just want to keep on burying and burying until all is dead and gone. Hidden. I refuse to do that. I lost that kind of trust ages ago. Even the lightest storm can open up a dug up burial. Even the strongest climate change can unearth a turmoil over time. Our secrets are meant to be revealed. They shall never stay hidden. Remember, your past and future is something that you could be either remembered by, or forgotten for. Ah, the risk, the two way path, has the other path opened up for me yet?  Now I take my three dead flowers and I remove each and every pedal, adding it to the pile in the crack of the old oak tree.

Have a goodnight Haides, and if you fall asleep try to write down your dreams. Maybe your life wouldn’t be so bad if  you compare them to your empty dreams and nightmares. Only small parts of it which you remember may seem blissful.

If hope is non-existent, how often do expectations link to curses? If I take the next step will I just stumble and fall into another inviting burial? Now do you understand what I mean when I tell you I feel more comfortable in the dark Haides?

Regards, 

Nyx

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

"If hope is non-existent, how often do expectations link to curses? Is taking another step just falling into another disentering burial? "
The complete chapter was very good. The above lines are very good. Hard to know what is true or real. Thank you for sharing the excellent chapter.
Coyote