11/19/18
You walk down a road. It is long and lank, a flat thread spooling through arches. Rock formations balance above your head, their leaden bodies leering at the ground, at the sky. You can tell they have eyes but today they're not open, not seeing--the sun is too hot and too bright, though you can't really feel it. You think they're just making it up.
You pass among these warped stones. Path and rock and sky, leading off into blank. You know it's all going to mist soon. Where the stone hallows the air, the earth will soon follow. You remember that from somewhere. But where? Maybe it was just your head. You're not sure. It doesn't matter much.
Blue above you. Gray below. Thudding footsteps. A soldier returning home to the emptiness that binds him.
A signpost is tacked in front of you. Intangibility ahead.
You keep moving forward, your limbs growing heavy. Soon you are of the road, of the sheer drop that inevitably waits before you, of the lonely world you've built for yourself. But you keep going, you keep going no matter what, even when you too have become stone.
NOTE: I got the idea of this title probably from MermaidSongspell's new story, "Of the Dreamers".
--KingfisherBirdLady
YOU ARE READING
Hello, November
PoetryThis is a collection of my writings from November 2018. It's a continuation of "Poetry" and "Poetry and Writes", but will be much shorter. I'll try to write something each day of the month and post as I go--even if what I've written sucks. Who care...
