Beauty is a thin line between
misery and bliss, where the
love of life and rolling thunder
collide into a million specks of
light, constellations cast across
the broad expanse. The blade
of fancy, neatly slicing all
things into loved and abandoned,
two islands of comfort in
uncertain waters. I can
recall, in a dream, writing
out words that put flesh
into that feeling of two worlds
with a weightless wall in
between, but as I woke, the
syllables lost their shape and
I was left with one blurry
impression and no texture at
all. The deepest truths seem to
work this way, burning our
senses in a far-off place that
loses its flame when we return.
It takes many trips, from this
world to that other one, before
the ideas grow their roots
and begin to flower. The
journeys are endless, in fact,
that would paint a portrait
of love or greed clear enough
to make out the shapes and
colors that bend our will
and taint our hearts.

Begun 5/27/01
Completed 5/29/01, around noon

3 responses total.

nice feel for language.  the syballence at one pointcaught my attention, and
overall the rhythem catches the reader.  I feel like I could hear the cadence
of your voice.  bravo.

(er ./syballence/sibilance)

oooh.  me likes, me likes!!!

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