June 9, 2016
Dream
may not be a poem
Dream
by red
When
the things in these places that were part of the great histories of mankind. The feeling of longing and lost for all the worldly existence. The world of sins and sufferings, the things that make you sad, make you glad, make you feel how unworthy it is for every one of us to be granted life.
The cleansing, it never worked. The purge of sins. And when it was decided by the gods to wipe it all.
There were the sounds. The shrieking, the laughter conveniently covering each other's noises. The voices. Rapid breathing, gasping, of a child trying to run away from the darkness. And his mother staying behind in the shadows, unnoticing, unmoving. The father was yet to be seen. The fire. The burning of the soul while the ground shallows the body. The sky was starting its war against the sea. It was horrible yet gloriously majestic. You can listen to it as a church choir singing with a grand Gregorian melody, with bells ringing, banging, dropping, blasting every demons trying to prey upon the innocents.
A closing darkness, then a drifting light. Blurry. In an instant, everything shutters in to sight then the world was consumed by the most blinding light to ever befall on mankind.
The counting of the night,
it has ended.
the things in these places that were part of the great histories of mankind. The feeling of longing and lost for all the worldly existence. The world of sins and sufferings, the things that make you sad, make you glad, make you feel how unworthy it is for every one of us to be granted life.
The cleansing, it never worked. The purge of sins. And when it was decided by the gods to wipe it all.
There were the sounds. The shrieking, the laughter conveniently covering each other's noises. The voices. Rapid breathing, gasping, of a child trying to run away from the darkness. And his mother staying behind in the shadows, unnoticing, unmoving. The father was yet to be seen. The fire. The burning of the soul while the ground shallows the body. The sky was starting its war against the sea. It was horrible yet gloriously majestic. You can listen to it as a church choir singing with a grand Gregorian melody, with bells ringing, banging, dropping, blasting every demons trying to prey upon the innocents.
A closing darkness, then a drifting light. Blurry. In an instant, everything shutters in to sight then the world was consumed by the most blinding light to ever befall on mankind.
The counting of the night,
it has ended.
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