“Being clean is what you asked of me, my love, my friend, myself, my being. A lost home begot of me. Something so sweet it rots my teeth. A cunning smile, an evil grin; teaching us so many things. And without much passion lies a disaster waiting at the end, where pieces fall apart, and dreams conclude what we forgot. Before you give this chance to me, I pray that you could let it be. Just let it be.”
“A powerful speech, young-one, I say,” forgotten functions; remembered focus. I understand you... "Peace would become an easy task for you, if you could learn, to let go concern.”
“Rid you of me, is what they seek. Asking me not what is best for the weak.” And the shoulder that guides you eventually fails in truth. As it is, we all slouch with time. Tears would it bring, to this unworthy being, were it not for lies that do keep us so woven together. “What is thy will, oh precious being of my own. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone. Created as one, and separate as one. Singular thought, singular will.”
“To ask me such, is a noble venture. But we shiver in this hollow dark, and I can feel the emptiness consuming. What is not lost, soon it shall be. The dragons approach my world, ever haunting; dreams through which they tell me, of my doom, of my death. And my womb is soon to be filled.” Angels never cried so much.
“And I ask not of you but that we give life this chance. I will save you, so much as you will it of me...”
--
The sky over and above me, the ragged earth crumbling at my feet. And this scythe holding steady, as I watch them they do see me. Those eyes of death, glowering inside skulls of wrath; watching my solid form. Autumn leaves falling fast around me, littering my feet in this forest green. Brown as death, and fire breathing fireflies. Oh that we’d miss our lives, and fall asleep among the stews. But I am drawing from my mind a priestly fallen form, praying over these evil lords, and giving strength where it needs it not.
The ground, it rumbles, the sky turns red; I stand my ground, waiting as I am. A giant claw impacts the ground, a swallow flies up without a sound. And life returns to my limbs again, I stand aside as fire comes to where I stand. But I was not but slow, and met my end. So awake, awake, awake from this dream. It is ready for passing, but life is not.