Apologetic Spent Checks

It's a glass fire. The edge waited pompously for us to throw our ambitions over. The landing of them crackled and sparked like fresh poplar leaves. Crystalline structure failed and recomposed, flames hueing of red and purples. Assumptions had left meaningless, empty wells that the trickled-down tears had no choice but to dry up upon. They said we could be anything. The imposters lined the side-streets of bohemian decay and washed-out artistry. Openness and compassion, a dry wastegate, only rushing forth when times are bleakest and never allowing enough. They had lied. As disappointment took hold, we braced for impact. Pieces of paper described the waning, the failure, the tragedy. Soft petals now crushed into soil. Speaking scenes of gnarled, wicked metal now a burning heap. Speeds incalculable. Clouds parting. Lens flare. The clarity was too bright to withstand. Like a sullen star, all draped in flowers and backdrops, gives woe thought to the ancient spires of old. The pillars creaked with the weight of it.  As this melting sun obliterated knowledge, the raised glass from sand bludgeoned the skyline.

Marmoe

We followed our pillowcase tendons. A sudden appearing drought upon air. As if  to say thou knowest me not. Here, here supple friend. These piercing sighs pittering, pattering; drawn out stares one might otherwise leave slightly fallen. Aye, says I.

For the better of us is often crooked. Foul shades leaping from mirror to mirror, forgetting its intention on the plane. Coloring reds and yellows into the belly of us.  And even so...the mild child's eyes. Bright, weary, aged, unsullied. Speak with but a whisper they say. However, the ocean never refused a shout. One cannot hear themselves yelling into that abyssal sepulcur.

Us and Them

We are all just scared little animals. Some growing wise, some not. In this era, intelligence is mocked and displays of arrogance and outspokenness are rewarded. The contents of critical thinking never applied to them.

And with gumdrop eyes.... Smiling at the term agreements, buying unneeded status items to stroke undeveloped egos. The last of us peddling our lives away. Faces of humility and desperation carried us off.

Then some sank into the salt. Drying up, dilapidating like a house left to the wilds. We watch them slither among the streets and concreted footpaths with doubt in their eyes and sand in their veins. To soak in the waters of the Earth, to breath blue fires into hearts. The darkness took us all.  Blank and obvious, we were the oil-touched ships of a dying generation whose bad seeds and stuttering amnesia signaled fires to the passerby's contemplative sonder.

Shamed Gold

Like pedaling with no hands, calm assures me. Deceitful tin encasing copper grins. The fellows by street lamps speak a tear to me and the shame knowest them not.

Sad hours seem long, as do the days climbing rocks with no rope and washing mud from skin. Trees glancing wind shields through locks long forgotten. However, vanity still swoons like some old friend run-in at a coffee shop. Acquainted, yet not endeared. And as those words shiver from me like beads of water off leaves, so too gone are the  syphoning of mirror-looks.

Prologue to an Epilogue

It was the afternoon of a Friday I had decided to die. I had repeated my vows to the Earth as it smiled more sneeringly than the moon. There were no more sinking ships to save. No more bills left unpaid or debts to settle. No more potential to squander. Now just simple principles standing erect on an open plain, I open my eyes to the reality of my glory. Personal though it may be, I was tired of wasting the hours. The only thing worth saving at this point would be someone else. 

Sooner

You grow from the inside. Sharpness crisp with the after-thoughts of lost wonder. You'll fall. Outpouring intellect of twisted misconception and desperate candor. Names of the unknown fitted on loosed lips like taciturn gloves shielding warmth. Shall the wine dance, we dissolve willfully. Placid smiles swimming endings. You’ll roar. Dead shade carrying body to kerosene paramount. Half-way drowned, the last of you floats to absolution. Sheeted, drastic notions whittling deeds forgotten. Brood no longer. Petty nothingness. Faded unchanged. I’ll wish I had witnessed sooner so stars could kiss our toes. The sky will tear us from the ground stealing our dreams, but we shall have them all to ourselves.

Speechless Edition - What Dreams May Come

Speechless Edition - What Dreams May Come from Crowe on Vimeo.

A first in a new series once a week. Edited films with as much speech removed as possible and effective music. Let the story take you away. Words are just symbols.