i lay back on my pillow with a cataclysmic chasm of a headache and blindly wish and will everything away…
be gone…
be no thing at all…
sweet eternal release from this throbbing agony of pain…
each heart beat…
each breath…
every little moment is neurotic collapse…
in the beginning she cried and it was life...
though she can not remember that…
she remembers a smile…
the flash of yellow…
perhaps warmth or light…
yellow is indistinct…
there was motion…
she remembers yellow motion as the beginning…
the violinists fingers bled red stains onto dark wood and played on with the added lilt of ecstatic agony…
the artistry manifest in the broken flesh…
to the end…
then she laid aside the instrument…
rose from her seat...
without a bow...
left the stage...
and played no more…
not one single note every again.
from my bed i think of marie and her pain…
the crucified lord taunting her with tantalizing dreams of martyrdom…
the faded cloth of the curtain dancing on a breeze…
somewhere a cat kills a robin and there is one less song…
my head throbs to the pulse of my heart…
each breath comes in scrapes and rasps rattling through dry lips and lungs…
behind my closed eyes an ocean swells and rushes to the shore…
it is as if i am drowning in a desert…
remembering drowning in a desert…
the yellow oasis of a dying sun…
here - no birds sing.
Need Help? Contact: feedback@panhistoria.com
All Pan Historia logo images are the exclusive property of Pan Historia Inc. and not to be
reproduced or used for any purpose without written permission. ®2000 thru 2011 Pan Historia