"That Day"
Dec. 30th, 2004 09:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wolven7It started with the rumble and the wonder of long-sleeping gods, in the ocean, their dreams, at the time of a conjunction of times, making them restless, and, perhaps, frightened. Their turning was noted, by the world, and the world turned, too, but away, as much as toward.
Their winding and working through his Brother's Job, surrounded by those books, those records, those visions of all that was (wasn't), is (isn't), will be (never) caused the other dreamers to catch in their dream, to flow into it, to accomodate it, whether they realised-- any of them-- and the two of them smiled, a little, inside. Giggled, if the truth be told.
The stories were of more life wanted ("Fucker.")-- more human than human, was their motto-- and of love sung, striven, lost, never forgotten, and oddly shown. They saw the most of these moving stories, together. The pictures accomodated, as well, saying all the right (wrong) things, at all the wrong (so right) times. An Elvis instigated mischief, in the presence of authority, and, again, the two giggled, silently, until that authority was gone. They fell into each other, soon.
Their locking, caressing... Not details to be told, here ("I hold you, now, as ever, and taste you still"); this is not their place.
The Morning came with totems and siguls; a raven Trio, families, pairs. Never less than two. For mirth, you see. Or joy, if you like. Mirth/joy, girl/funeral, boys and births. And it wasn't until later that they saw how they had announced their union, and her arrival.
After a breakfast, light, as they were primarily feeding [off of] each other, and the slick glittering carriage, through the city inside, they clasped gloved hands, in the walking of that place of power, and hidden beauty. You have to look at the right thing, from the right angle. And from there, they saw the repository and creativity. Freedom-- walk right in, have a glance around. This occpied their minds, and conversations. Discussing what was there, for all to see.
His father came, for the meeting of her. They talked, and learned of one another, and it was... very good, in his eyes. In all of their eyes.
And the day closed on a tear-streaked goodbye, and the bending of lines, and changing of minds, with wonderings
(Why did i help them take you away?)
but knowing why. Longer terms, now.
Try not to think of him, then, tears on a pillow smelling of her, still, and the blanket she used. Instead, perhaps the stoic he was, then, for her... Or think on them both, awhile, as all are true, and the same.
And he missed her, the second she was gone from his arms. And he misses her still.
Their winding and working through his Brother's Job, surrounded by those books, those records, those visions of all that was (wasn't), is (isn't), will be (never) caused the other dreamers to catch in their dream, to flow into it, to accomodate it, whether they realised-- any of them-- and the two of them smiled, a little, inside. Giggled, if the truth be told.
The stories were of more life wanted ("Fucker.")-- more human than human, was their motto-- and of love sung, striven, lost, never forgotten, and oddly shown. They saw the most of these moving stories, together. The pictures accomodated, as well, saying all the right (wrong) things, at all the wrong (so right) times. An Elvis instigated mischief, in the presence of authority, and, again, the two giggled, silently, until that authority was gone. They fell into each other, soon.
Their locking, caressing... Not details to be told, here ("I hold you, now, as ever, and taste you still"); this is not their place.
The Morning came with totems and siguls; a raven Trio, families, pairs. Never less than two. For mirth, you see. Or joy, if you like. Mirth/joy, girl/funeral, boys and births. And it wasn't until later that they saw how they had announced their union, and her arrival.
After a breakfast, light, as they were primarily feeding [off of] each other, and the slick glittering carriage, through the city inside, they clasped gloved hands, in the walking of that place of power, and hidden beauty. You have to look at the right thing, from the right angle. And from there, they saw the repository and creativity. Freedom-- walk right in, have a glance around. This occpied their minds, and conversations. Discussing what was there, for all to see.
His father came, for the meeting of her. They talked, and learned of one another, and it was... very good, in his eyes. In all of their eyes.
And the day closed on a tear-streaked goodbye, and the bending of lines, and changing of minds, with wonderings
(Why did i help them take you away?)
but knowing why. Longer terms, now.
Try not to think of him, then, tears on a pillow smelling of her, still, and the blanket she used. Instead, perhaps the stoic he was, then, for her... Or think on them both, awhile, as all are true, and the same.
And he missed her, the second she was gone from his arms. And he misses her still.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-12-31 02:59 am (UTC)no subject
no subject
Date: 2004-12-31 03:27 am (UTC)no subject
no subject
Date: 2004-12-31 03:26 am (UTC)And you helped, because you had to, and because I'll be back. And maybe because this is a sign we'll win.
no subject
And yes. Exactly.