CROWNS HAVE THEIR COMPASS-LENGTH OF DAYS THEIR DATE-
TRIUMPHS THEIR TOMB-FELICITY, HER FATE-
You are the earth. But also the sun, and the sky. You are elements, bound and fused together. And you must never forget you can be everything all at once.
At night, he dreamed of spirits in the wind. Of monoliths and structures, towering towards clouds, sometimes ashen, sometimes cardinal and cerise, where they reached and soared, where they drowned and cloaked. He dreamed of leathery wings and draconic calls over the abyss, fathoms and shadows he’d chase below, until he could spread his own wings and follow them into the ether. He dreamed of metallic plumage resting across his withers, the warmest of smiles tucked against his cheek, of tenderness and love. He dreamed of a sagacity resting across the tip of brows and the arch of a hidden grin, of a wisdom he’d eternally cherish, yearn, and crave – wanting to listen to the sounds of the rapt syllables, the riveting phrases. He dreamed of whispers on the breeze, of harpsichord angles and angels twisting, interwoven into their own chords until they breathed his name in the still of twilight. He dreamed of mountains, great and small, the abyss of blood and sand.
Of a void he could never have again, except in memories, reaching for the stars and finding them too far away, even for him to seek. Of a canvas brought to life only in slumber, for it couldn’t exist thereafter – consumed, swallowed, and gone.
At dawn, the boy rose and flew, feathers extending towards the sun, eyes searching, scorching, for worlds he once knew. For veils to lift from their shrouds, peek over his gaze, and tell him he was home. That they were no longer wraiths and ghosts. That there was no shame in the etching of family, in seeking out all he understood, in fervent, desperate wishes that couldn’t come true. That their catacombs didn’t line halls, that their sepulchers weren’t resting in oblivion. That he might be able to reach and snatch, grasp and tear, and pull them into his heart, into his soul, where they could perpetually remain.
Maybe this time he pushed himself too far. Perhaps he ignored the warning signs, the billowing of the chilling, glacial winds, the way exhaustion pulled and tugged across the seams of muscles, along the arches and ridges of his spine, against the fortified enamel of his bones. The rising notes of aches and pains chiseled their way through his skull, pounding on membranes, vivid, stark reminders he needed to cease –
And still, he didn’t.
Because down below looked like sand, dirt, soil, loam from a land he once knew. He once loved. And if he could just fly a little farther, a little further, than it would be worth it.
They’d be there. His kin. It wouldn’t have all been for naught.
The Oasis below did look strikingly familiar – and he coasted on zephyrs and clouds, drifting, drifting, drifting, until the ripples and cascades weren’t the pools from his desert. But it was far too late, and there was no end to his descent, until he felt the ground beneath his hooves, and his knees buckled. His body, his weight, fell forward, and his chin rested in the sand, sides heaving, lungs coveting, wings like jagged, fallen knives. He could barely shift his head, to peer towards the water, and realize his mistake – the delusions, the mirages – and the sand was warm beneath his cheek, when hope ran aground and his heart gave out. The reddened gaze closed, trying to hold back the reality, the inward workings of despair, gripping through marrow and flesh.
But you must remember to rest.
@tag | speaks
TRIUMPHS THEIR TOMB-FELICITY, HER FATE-
You are the earth. But also the sun, and the sky. You are elements, bound and fused together. And you must never forget you can be everything all at once.At night, he dreamed of spirits in the wind. Of monoliths and structures, towering towards clouds, sometimes ashen, sometimes cardinal and cerise, where they reached and soared, where they drowned and cloaked. He dreamed of leathery wings and draconic calls over the abyss, fathoms and shadows he’d chase below, until he could spread his own wings and follow them into the ether. He dreamed of metallic plumage resting across his withers, the warmest of smiles tucked against his cheek, of tenderness and love. He dreamed of a sagacity resting across the tip of brows and the arch of a hidden grin, of a wisdom he’d eternally cherish, yearn, and crave – wanting to listen to the sounds of the rapt syllables, the riveting phrases. He dreamed of whispers on the breeze, of harpsichord angles and angels twisting, interwoven into their own chords until they breathed his name in the still of twilight. He dreamed of mountains, great and small, the abyss of blood and sand.
Of a void he could never have again, except in memories, reaching for the stars and finding them too far away, even for him to seek. Of a canvas brought to life only in slumber, for it couldn’t exist thereafter – consumed, swallowed, and gone.
At dawn, the boy rose and flew, feathers extending towards the sun, eyes searching, scorching, for worlds he once knew. For veils to lift from their shrouds, peek over his gaze, and tell him he was home. That they were no longer wraiths and ghosts. That there was no shame in the etching of family, in seeking out all he understood, in fervent, desperate wishes that couldn’t come true. That their catacombs didn’t line halls, that their sepulchers weren’t resting in oblivion. That he might be able to reach and snatch, grasp and tear, and pull them into his heart, into his soul, where they could perpetually remain.
Maybe this time he pushed himself too far. Perhaps he ignored the warning signs, the billowing of the chilling, glacial winds, the way exhaustion pulled and tugged across the seams of muscles, along the arches and ridges of his spine, against the fortified enamel of his bones. The rising notes of aches and pains chiseled their way through his skull, pounding on membranes, vivid, stark reminders he needed to cease –
And still, he didn’t.
Because down below looked like sand, dirt, soil, loam from a land he once knew. He once loved. And if he could just fly a little farther, a little further, than it would be worth it.
They’d be there. His kin. It wouldn’t have all been for naught.
The Oasis below did look strikingly familiar – and he coasted on zephyrs and clouds, drifting, drifting, drifting, until the ripples and cascades weren’t the pools from his desert. But it was far too late, and there was no end to his descent, until he felt the ground beneath his hooves, and his knees buckled. His body, his weight, fell forward, and his chin rested in the sand, sides heaving, lungs coveting, wings like jagged, fallen knives. He could barely shift his head, to peer towards the water, and realize his mistake – the delusions, the mirages – and the sand was warm beneath his cheek, when hope ran aground and his heart gave out. The reddened gaze closed, trying to hold back the reality, the inward workings of despair, gripping through marrow and flesh.
But you must remember to rest.
OF NOUGHT BUT EARTH CAN EARTH MAKE US PARTAKER,
BUT KNOWLEDGE MAKES A KING MOST LIKE HIS MAKER.
BUT KNOWLEDGE MAKES A KING MOST LIKE HIS MAKER.
