As with all things, there are two sides to every story…a cause and effect…a tit for tat…and thru this we are able to construct meanings beyond that of original intention…we meld a personal flavor into what we see. Sometimes you do things with outcomes entirely expected…other times we blindly thrust our hand into the darkness oblivious to what we might pull out. No matter what your path, we will find that we are never really alone in the endeavor…just apart from our fellow companions . Here is the continuation of the detective style scribbles. As the last was parallel to the first poem, this one correlates with the second half respectively. Grab a seat and enjoy!

The world Reborn:

Her face was something you’d only see on a clear night, her hair like comets tails…here eyes solar flare…her smile nebula…and her voice like aurora putting colors to shame. this breathing star shot across my sky with spectacle and circumstance, leaving my gaze locked tighter than a liquor store in Harlem. She was a flare leaving clouds of allure to bread crumb my way to her side, and the sweet flavor was too enticing not to follow. The air around her was darker than a moonless night, and left me more nervous than one to boot. She sat VIP, spilling words like wine across the table…each rendition uncorked another set of pain..an not one was a good year. Then I notice the smallest of flickers, just a little hint, and I can tell she’s exhaling all this sadness…looking for someone to breathe life in to resolve its absence. Who was I tho? what gave me the right to ride in gallantly speaking of trials and honor…my mail had less shine than a 2 dollar watch….but this was no time to freeze. Every syllable she uttered wound my clock up one more turn, till finally my cogs went into action, my sprockets swung the pendulum, and I carried that momentum far enough to sit by her side. That’s when the gates opened…I unloaded like a rookie cop in a shady gambling den, I talked about the worries, I talked about the torture, I talked about the futility behind it all….and then…I talked about awakening, about a birth from the brimstone. I was a preacher of recovery, I stood on the pulpit of my despair and read experience as my verse. With each sentence I grew less and less timid, building courage enough to not just give advice, but extended a hand. When my lips stopped flapping like a clipped pigeon, I looked up to notice her intently listening to every word I said….this was no celestial miracle…she was flawed like me, and with less awareness than thought I had done the most chivalrous thing anyone had ever offered her. Then it happened, she smiled…and like sunrise it lit up my night, the snow in my world melted and took me with it. She may not have been a celestial miracle…but my heart now revolved around her without question. I took her in my arms and flew out of hell, never once stopping to look back. It was mutual symbiosis…I fed on her, she fed on me, creating a perfectly workable environment that only grew stronger with the passage of time…she’d be my fire and I’d be her teddy bear…together making stories to be held on the lips of wanting lost campers, just looking for a symbol to lead them out of the woods. And until my last second…I’d never allow her reason to sling the fermented stains of sorrow ever again.

(Not the mood setter…but a favorite none the less)

11 Feb This entry was written by CatastroFUCK and published on February 11, 2014 at 4:50 PM. It’s filed under Story Time and tagged art, Blanc, bow chicka wow de dang dee dang diggy diggy, help!, rebirth, rise from the ashes. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.