Sunday, June 26, 2011

Mathessa


She lamented over her soiled and tattered dress. It was bloodied, as was her body. She grieved over the staccato of her wounds and her filigree scars and the blood-buds that threatened to flower across her form.

All around us, wails and cries rose in dissonant harmony, convoluted and absolute in their despair; understated and profound in their grief. They were too much and yet not quite enough to evince the loss.

The sight was equally jarring as the sound: the ruin and the waste of the uprooted homes and structures were discordant gravestones of the dreams and lives that once flourished in the young graveyard.

We looked at Death in the eye: even then, life-flames flickered here and there, threatening to give a last struggle before utterly failing.

I looked around in search of those dearest to me by virtue of blood and life: we were together, safe in the haven of our embrace, even after tides crashed upon us in a black torrent, even as we clung on to each other, blindly.

She lamented over her soiled and tattered dress, now blind to the fallen around her. She loved them, as they did her.

I looked in search of those dear to me: we were safe.


5 comments:

  1. Man, you had to see this when this was raw with grammer flaws and laden with newborn tale-blues! Hahaha, but thanks! :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. very vivid, sp. echo xall.

    ReplyDelete