War

Something from my less mature days. Like some of the imagery, but man what complainer.

            They begin to march side by side. Closer and closer they come. Their bellowing laughter echoing hand in hand with their footsteps. These beings come to me with the darkening sky, showing me everything that I don’t want to see.

            They show me as my heart is overcome by that contagious disease of loneliness, feasting upon my hearts delicate tissue, getting fat off that, oh...so tender flesh. That itch for human affection overcoming me.

            All this as they come a marching with the darkening sky.

            They arrive on the end trails of their maiden in black. Only then can they come in close, undetected, prepared to wrap that bothersome piano wire around my soft neck. And when that piece of wire wraps around my golden brown skin, making it bulge with unmoving blood become black with pressure, that's when you feel it, that sadness.

            I don't understand why it comes at night, too many hours alone...maybe. Too much time with my subconscious...maybe.But I won't complain about it. I'll let the blood flow fresh from that paper thin wound circling the circumference of my neck. I'll let it cut so deep I can speak gurgled words through the blood filled opening.

            I'm sure with time I'll get used to it, becoming nothing more then a common occurrence. I will be fully immune...

            But wait what if someone comes to save the day? This lovely black maiden and her minions against our faceless, nameless, peaceful, friend.

           One uses their words and wisdom, love and compassion. She uses her stealth and deceitfulness, her coldness and hate. She waits for blood to spill and soak into thick dark soil, eating off the cries of the weak and flesh from the meek. The hero waits and watches, shouts words of comfort, and heals the injured.

            How will it end?

            Will it be a time for joy and celebration, a time for song and dance? To rejoice with wine down our chins, and sweat on our brow. Or will I fear the minute that the battle ceases, when I must look upon the piles of dismembered bodies? Fly’s forming a moving blanket upon their bodies.

            If this maiden wins, the piano wire will pull just a little tighter. If my hero wins then I will be able to face the nights with my head high.

            But for now, I won't complain.

 

Author's Note

Meh, be cruel.

Reviews

[Flo_writer]

Even In your earlier days your imagination flowed to it's peak. No need to reilliterate what great Imagery is written here, just let your eyes gaze upon the below reviews as this "truely is a work of art."

[Brittany]

No need to be cruel, this is a work of art.

The lines,

"They show me as my heart is overcome by that contagious disease of loneliness, feasting upon my hearts delicate tissue, getting fat off that, oh...so tender flesh. That itch for human affection overcoming me."

are so honest, but conveyed in such a unique style, I am truly left in wonder. Thanks.

[Emily B]

I've fought battles and skirmishes against darkness. The war still rages. Some days I come very near winning and some days I overcome. And I suppose I will march on . . .

You have some really stunning imagery here.