Fingers for Gloves: Prequel To An Ending

The Wind Whisperer

The cadence of a cold heart, caught on the cruel, bitter winds of the world. Drifting, endlessly, falling closer to the ground, but never quite reaching. An illusion of flying. If you can...catch me... :)

A story. An open ended question. If you could dance along the riverbanks of each waking morning, what colour would the sunrise paint your eyes? If this were a ballet, our feet would stay upon the ground. But we'd like to think otherwise, wouldn't we? Maybe this story is a pretty good one. Maybe the glove doesn't fit the hand. Maybe the glove just fits.

It has been long since I've written any work of significance here,
And for now it shall remain that way.
In that time
I've written an album.
Because
For a long time
I'd forgotten what I'd believed in
In this brief non-fiction of mine
That I propagate with fantasy
To make it
To the next page.
I feel alone.
Utterly.
Entirely.
Isolated, even
From who I am - who I want to be,
What I love - but that is unimportant.
I can share this secret
This work of fiction
With no one
Until I find myself.
Maybe I shall return
When - if -
I do.
But as to that
I make no comment.
I don't believe in love.
Peace.

The Wind Whisperer

Prequel To An Ending

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