The Wind That Chimes the Bells

The wind that chimes the bells
blows through the open porchway
like a passing aire of happiness,
like the breeze that leaves the sea.
It fills the nose and the mind with a
welcome nostalgia, a tranquil serenity,
an halcyon, which it oftly fares to be.
With its fingers of a delicate touch
it moves across my clothes with
the care of a mother to her child.
A life lived without a friendly wind as such
is as a wolf borne without the wild.
And to this I do declare,
Not a more loving friend,
Has run her fingers through my hair.
And how so fondly I do lament her leaving me alone, yet
Her absence is one I ask her not repent,
For in passing we shall again be in the company of friends.
And I owe it to her, my lovely, life changing wind,
To always feel her love and to show her mine in the end.

Morning Fog

An alarm awakens me with a jolt of life.
It's early, much too so to be any other day.
The sun is nestled neatly on the furthest
ends of the horizon,
And the reality of my frightful awakening
sets in with my concession of nighttime eyes.
Comfort is the warmth one feels under
the down-feather blanket on the bed;
A reluctant yet needed dis-possession.
A few precious minutes are spent gathering
my effects for the day;
A ritual cherished for its delaying of that
inescapable coming of time.
I feel alive now;
No longer burdened with the reckless abandonment
of that beloved sleep,
I feel slightly energized by the all too
prevalent familiarity of this routine.
I feel it now as the marrow in my
legs hums with a subtle warming glow;
the grateful promise of greatness to come.
I feel it now too as the emptiness in
my chest is made to live again with the
laboring of lungs.
I've felt this too many times before as
I search for a set to rest my head;
But I've come to love it as much as I
have come to think of it with dread.
It is with a peculiar friendship that I
address the morning.
That lonely drive at the darkest of dawns
to a singularly lit field.
A gathering of shadows tells me the
day is about to begin, but
Not before I lay on the rigid
and unrelenting concrete, to makeshift
the bed for which i so desperately plead.
The atmosphere is palpable as I feel
the fog enshroud my eyes;
Talking is for people far more
lively than me...
Walking is for people far more
animated than me...
Laughing is for people far more
humored than me...
Running is for people...
Just like me...

Midday Reverie

This is a kind of stream of consciousness prose story I wrote today after I got home from school.
It's called "Midday Reverie" because well... I wrote it in the afternoon and it's got some pretty out there thoughts...
Anyway - I hope you enjoy my "Midday Reverie":






"It's past your bedtime," whispered the clock benevolently as the scene faded from her perceptive glance. A sunset screamed so beautiful as to have inspired the grass itself to leap from its stalks, to make the trees bow down from their noble gait by the gales of wind, to make the clouds impart their ways to the favor of light; so beautiful and serene was this setting of the sun that Time herself pressed a reminiscent pause on the inevitability of tomorrow: for just a second more with which to imbibe the parting of Now made the presentation of the Next-to-Come so much more worth the wait.
"To what do I owe this blessed cessation?" posed the sun, a half-grin betraying his suave formality.
"To the simple elegance of your infinite charm," responded Time, with a dually flirtatious flutter of her eyes and smile.
And with the courtships of Sun and Forever now completed, the intrusion of the Moon put a stop to all existence; for the stillness of night was his imminent domain; the imperceptible palpitations of the mind, which put dreams to our eyes, his profession. Wolves howl to his solitary supremacy, and stargazers form their eyes to his origins of light and thank him for navigating their hearts to their truest desires.
"His egoism precedes him," the Stars would mutter, wishing they had but a fourth of his poise.
The night was a bowl - a trough - a goblet; no - a veritable melting pot of unseen grandeur - a shame to miss by having to be planted on Earth. Her familiar hearth is pleasing to the peace-of-mind, but the confines of her majesty existing just beyond ground-level sight made her capacity for unlimited imagination just slightly above speculative.
Out in space, the brethren of night, however, speculation was merely a concept of the past, a time before life and order had defined existence to us all. Its unimaginable breadth captures every thought from every being on every livable hospice in the universe. Scientists will tell us space is indefinitely expanding as a result of the Big Bang; space will tell us it's because we imagine it's expanding.
With the conception of every thought that enters into a fusion of every neural synapse, a singular infinitesimal expansion of the universe is felt - reverberating all the way to the edge of Darkness himself, posing to him as the next invaluable addition to his ever-growing glory. The Gatekeeper to infinity, Darkness heartily accepts the interchange and with the simple assimilation of thought, increases his expanse to encompass a trillion more thoughts that very next second.
"But why," you ask "do we on Earth not feel this expansion? Surely the entire universe expanding would cause some sort of perceptible change..."
Oh, but to you, I say it does. For when night draws nigh to the Sun, he relinquishes his throne as the absorber of every thought that ricochets back from the end of darkness. For his maintenance of light comes from these thoughts; yet when he passes his realm to his brother, the Moon, the Sun is in that instance allowing those thoughts to reinvigorate themselves within the well of their genesis. And through the moon they pass, magnified a millionfold - enough to create the manifestation of an alternate life, and spearing through the atmosphere they find their way into the catacombs of your mind to become the next frame in the story of your dreams.
And so I say to you - cherish your dreams and live each one as if you were actually there, for the power of life to think and dream is what keeps the infinite glory of space from ever ceasing to be.


The End :)