chapter 13: Glass wires
Grinding the dry leaf entrusted within my palm and realising nothing but just how quickly time goes by as searching for something can prove to be so candid and the errand of the gods above with the power to overwhelm the simple soul that troubles of his body and mind and should never matter anymore. Walking hand in hand with the truth of him to reflect upon the undying energy pulsating within. How quickly goes the water from my lips before I drink and the essence of my speech with words before I speak. Bowing down to uncertain eruptions of the blowing passion of unspoken and unheard voices without faces and the curling cloud upon my descending into my self-centred space.
Describe what of my surroundings as I cross the often travelled journey between space, never ending and ever changing, and earth where I am buried deep into the roots of a world unaccounted for.
My emptiness of purpose which lies in my perception, never fails to keep off the hardened and misunderstood chest that rumbles with discomfort inside my lungs and my very breathing is forced of my comfort of life. Poetry, they call it, and fiction for it seems to open an imaginary sky of their free will. The chords of my heart are strung lively of a melody that is faint and that resounds of the fair bird’s flight into its purpose. As the pointless arguments are spared from my ears and the open stream of blood and wine have given light to the glass wires that are neatly wrapped around my ankles and I stumble to my feet as the balance is restored of my body and mind of which I have sorely missed.
Invisible enough, as they had torn the boundaries of its very existence as they wound themselves around and round they climbed of every fibre of mine. Time yet again has slipped so far that the hands of the clock and the grains of the sand forgive not the shadow that falls upon the dark side of the world in the centre of the universe.
Guided by the wind that has followed me for all these days, I have arrived at the desert and thankfully I am lost. Trudging the sand with unexpected dreams of finding the road, I am happy and well and this journal is finally starting to make some sense.