The Ones Forgotten (Tales of Herian: Tale 1)
Completed
Rain paints anger and fear; dressing desire and the temptation to distinguish the faintest of lights, the brightest of suns, and the most innocent of insolence; Rain paints distress; an unwilling jeopardy that killed the most burning desires, flushed the greatest of loves and shut the somber love songs away, graceful chaos that authors hoax.
Oh, but Rain paints hope; a yielding feeling in one's chest, a fleeting lullaby that once set innocence to sleep will now ponder to wake the light it once ousted, it burns the faith of hope alive, the hope that the rain too shall past, this too shall wither with the wind. Rain paints memories; each seed trickling, lingering on porcelain skins, a fleeting flash of images that cost a life.
So I call the heavens, the ones that sent the pouring grace of rain among mortals; I question, is this the faintest pain we are to suffer from, or is this the greatest glory you have blessed the masses?
If it was a blessing, set this mind at peace, aid this soul to rest... just as the memories we made flatter rotten, of the ones forgotten.
