Oh lookie I actually wrote something today...
Okay so I was listening to music today and this particular song came up:
http://www.megaupload.com/?d=OBLUWFNW
It made me see things in my head, water and floating and flowers...it made me see pictures.
And so from that song, this piece was born:
Wreathed in crowflowers…
One would think that down here, far below the surface, there would be silence. Blessed silence that stretches out for miles inside your mind, making the world go small while the outside continues the same path its always been on. But one would be wrong. Down here, my fingertips extending only inches above the water, there is anything but silence. It is a cacophony of rushing water, pulsing heartbeats, and bubbles crackling at the water that they were born of that fills my thoughts.
There are songs…such music that is inside my mind. The words come from my lips unbidden, cascading towards the surface of the stream, popping upon reaching the open air, touching my outstretched hand as it lifts its way towards heaven. I know now that my soul will soon follow it, though I am not in that way as of yet. My eyes squint, my ears filling with heavy sounds, and I can see the flowers floating upon the water. I must have dropped them.
I was carrying flowers, once upon a time. Back then, when I was at once loved and spurned all at the same time, when my heart was lighter. It was as though my spirit were a field of lonely dandelions, hardly cared for, not appreciated, stepped upon. Though I did everything I was told, promises of happiness as rays of sunlight in my heart, nothing ever became of them…and so here I am. Though once upon a time I was carrying flowers and beauty, now there is only desolation, the cold embrace of looming death that I find myself in.
Penetrated by the nettles of my existence…
Will anyone remember me? When my spirit has left this lonely shell it now finds itself in, will anyone mourn me? Songs and laments for my beauty and my gentle state, I wonder in these final moments if it meant anything at all. There is pain now, both physical and spiritual, as I float further down the stream. From what I had read in the past, these sorts of experiences were supposed to be over quickly. Where was my beautiful light in the distance, beckoning me to its eternal embrace? Where were the outstretched arms of my father waiting for me?
Perhaps I am truly damned, like he told me. Perhaps I obeyed too readily, was too easy to bend from that which I truly desired. It would serve me right that in my eagerness to be what every else wanted that I lost myself in the process, and by doing so earned their hatred. It would serve me right. Everything is beginning to become blurry, hard to see, my eyelids are becoming like lead upon my face as my lungs become painfully aware of their situation. The cloth that had before held me aloft in the stream have now become heavy…they can bear the heavy burden of my sinking weight no longer.
Veiled in daisies…
My hand reaches upwards of its own volition, feeling the soft bark of a hanging tree that must have been overhead. I can no longer remember. For a moment I am shunted back into reality, glaring and harsh, as I lift my soaking head above the water. Though the air that is sucked into my lungs should have been sweet, to me it is like a poisonous fume, trying to pull me back towards life when I have chosen the opposite. Treacherous body, even it has set its will against me…but it will not win!
Just this once, for the first time in what seems like my entire life, I shall be the decider of my own fate. I will take the reins in my deadening hands and hold on as tightly as I can. Though they may argue that I was simply too impaired to do otherwise, I know that I am indeed the dealer of my hand. Though now, as I feel the water go over my head again, my legs that were before moving gently with the current are thrashing about a bit. They are trying, without success, to save me from this predetermined set of events. I will not allow it! My mind is settled, and even this shell of a body that I have been imprisoned in shall keep me not from attaining my goal.
The long purples shall cover me like a lover in the dark…
It is coming. I can feel it. The flowers that were once as clear as daylight upon the veneer of the water are gone away now; my eyes cannot see them. Though, in all honesty, I cannot tell if that is from the steady flow rushing them away, or the bleary state of my failing body, black spots glittering at the edge of my vision. The world is a tunnel now, long and seemingly peaceful, but still there is no light. Perhaps it was all a lie, perhaps it was all stories that people tell one another to prepare them for these…our final moments upon the earth.
I am prepared. Each stone cast at my heart, each knife plunged into my back, every tear making long painful trails down my pale cheeks, has prepared me for this. And I am ready in every way a human being can make themselves flush. It is only with the vaguest sense of remorse do I leave this earth behind me, my hands long since having fallen from the air to join the rest of my body deep below. There will be no more placid breezes for my soul; never more to feel the soft delight in the pleasures of the flesh. I realize now that they never meant very much…I am just as easy to brush off here, dying in this water, as I was there where he left me.
Brother…do you think of me still? Will you remember your sister in the days when her heart was feather-light and her eyes still shone with the luminance of sanity? Or will you recall only my deplorable fall from grace, the sickness that wracked my apparently feeble mind, as I wandered through the halls singing childish songs of lore. There are frightening days when I can hardly remember those happier times myself, iluminated by brief moments where my mind is free of its shackles and I am left to wonder at my own disposition.
Long purples in the dark…
The time has come…I am going. The willow branch has been my executioner, and I am glad of it. No more will I wander through a haze of perpetual dreaming. No more will I endure the pitiful stares of my kinsmen, my friends, as they look upon my ravaged form. And I have been ravaged, in every way possible for a human being to be consumed…
I am consumed…
Now, if anyone can actually tell me WHO this is...i'll give you cookies. I've got some smart people on my flist here, so you should be able to get the clues pretty well.
I'm Out
Orchid
http://www.megaupload.com/?d=OBLUWFNW
It made me see things in my head, water and floating and flowers...it made me see pictures.
And so from that song, this piece was born:
Wreathed in crowflowers…
One would think that down here, far below the surface, there would be silence. Blessed silence that stretches out for miles inside your mind, making the world go small while the outside continues the same path its always been on. But one would be wrong. Down here, my fingertips extending only inches above the water, there is anything but silence. It is a cacophony of rushing water, pulsing heartbeats, and bubbles crackling at the water that they were born of that fills my thoughts.
There are songs…such music that is inside my mind. The words come from my lips unbidden, cascading towards the surface of the stream, popping upon reaching the open air, touching my outstretched hand as it lifts its way towards heaven. I know now that my soul will soon follow it, though I am not in that way as of yet. My eyes squint, my ears filling with heavy sounds, and I can see the flowers floating upon the water. I must have dropped them.
I was carrying flowers, once upon a time. Back then, when I was at once loved and spurned all at the same time, when my heart was lighter. It was as though my spirit were a field of lonely dandelions, hardly cared for, not appreciated, stepped upon. Though I did everything I was told, promises of happiness as rays of sunlight in my heart, nothing ever became of them…and so here I am. Though once upon a time I was carrying flowers and beauty, now there is only desolation, the cold embrace of looming death that I find myself in.
Penetrated by the nettles of my existence…
Will anyone remember me? When my spirit has left this lonely shell it now finds itself in, will anyone mourn me? Songs and laments for my beauty and my gentle state, I wonder in these final moments if it meant anything at all. There is pain now, both physical and spiritual, as I float further down the stream. From what I had read in the past, these sorts of experiences were supposed to be over quickly. Where was my beautiful light in the distance, beckoning me to its eternal embrace? Where were the outstretched arms of my father waiting for me?
Perhaps I am truly damned, like he told me. Perhaps I obeyed too readily, was too easy to bend from that which I truly desired. It would serve me right that in my eagerness to be what every else wanted that I lost myself in the process, and by doing so earned their hatred. It would serve me right. Everything is beginning to become blurry, hard to see, my eyelids are becoming like lead upon my face as my lungs become painfully aware of their situation. The cloth that had before held me aloft in the stream have now become heavy…they can bear the heavy burden of my sinking weight no longer.
Veiled in daisies…
My hand reaches upwards of its own volition, feeling the soft bark of a hanging tree that must have been overhead. I can no longer remember. For a moment I am shunted back into reality, glaring and harsh, as I lift my soaking head above the water. Though the air that is sucked into my lungs should have been sweet, to me it is like a poisonous fume, trying to pull me back towards life when I have chosen the opposite. Treacherous body, even it has set its will against me…but it will not win!
Just this once, for the first time in what seems like my entire life, I shall be the decider of my own fate. I will take the reins in my deadening hands and hold on as tightly as I can. Though they may argue that I was simply too impaired to do otherwise, I know that I am indeed the dealer of my hand. Though now, as I feel the water go over my head again, my legs that were before moving gently with the current are thrashing about a bit. They are trying, without success, to save me from this predetermined set of events. I will not allow it! My mind is settled, and even this shell of a body that I have been imprisoned in shall keep me not from attaining my goal.
The long purples shall cover me like a lover in the dark…
It is coming. I can feel it. The flowers that were once as clear as daylight upon the veneer of the water are gone away now; my eyes cannot see them. Though, in all honesty, I cannot tell if that is from the steady flow rushing them away, or the bleary state of my failing body, black spots glittering at the edge of my vision. The world is a tunnel now, long and seemingly peaceful, but still there is no light. Perhaps it was all a lie, perhaps it was all stories that people tell one another to prepare them for these…our final moments upon the earth.
I am prepared. Each stone cast at my heart, each knife plunged into my back, every tear making long painful trails down my pale cheeks, has prepared me for this. And I am ready in every way a human being can make themselves flush. It is only with the vaguest sense of remorse do I leave this earth behind me, my hands long since having fallen from the air to join the rest of my body deep below. There will be no more placid breezes for my soul; never more to feel the soft delight in the pleasures of the flesh. I realize now that they never meant very much…I am just as easy to brush off here, dying in this water, as I was there where he left me.
Brother…do you think of me still? Will you remember your sister in the days when her heart was feather-light and her eyes still shone with the luminance of sanity? Or will you recall only my deplorable fall from grace, the sickness that wracked my apparently feeble mind, as I wandered through the halls singing childish songs of lore. There are frightening days when I can hardly remember those happier times myself, iluminated by brief moments where my mind is free of its shackles and I am left to wonder at my own disposition.
Long purples in the dark…
The time has come…I am going. The willow branch has been my executioner, and I am glad of it. No more will I wander through a haze of perpetual dreaming. No more will I endure the pitiful stares of my kinsmen, my friends, as they look upon my ravaged form. And I have been ravaged, in every way possible for a human being to be consumed…
I am consumed…
Now, if anyone can actually tell me WHO this is...i'll give you cookies. I've got some smart people on my flist here, so you should be able to get the clues pretty well.
I'm Out
Orchid