Far beyond my reach, soaring above the wintry peaks of lurid reflection, floats a cherished dream. Deceptive though it seems, to grasp it is worth the rigid journey to the top, and so I set out willing to endure the mountain before me. My sense of longing reaches its brim upon every step. It is painfully rewarding - both agonizing and exceedingly so - to face the frigid mountain air and the despairing winds. If anything, they make me more alive - an arduous yet bearable advantage. When I turn to gaze below my feet to see all that I have overcome, all I see is white; a niveous mystery of the past that blinds the present into uncertainty. It is here I sit, with shaken head and muddled mind, that I lose my footing and fall back to the start. It is here I sit and long for that sweet embrace of the foreign sky to shine its radiance upon my skin. It is here I sit and rest beside reality mixing present with past and past with fantasy. It is here I sit, tangled in allusion/illusion, and fixate on nothing more than a cherished dream. It is here I sit. It is here I sit. It is here I sit.
- afm
2 comments:
"It is here I sit, with shaken head and muddled mind, that I lose my footing and fall back to the start. It is here I sit and long for that sweet embrace of the foreign sky to shine its radiance upon my skin."
So good.
"soaring above the wintry peaks of lurid reflection"
ugh all this is missing is a golden eagle saturated with cliches and falling into liquid clairty before my heart that loves too much becomes too full to care...
Post a Comment