Prose
The Eyes That Never Close
What does a voice say when it has brushed eternity? What words suffice to sum it up? Composed they sit...Silent. Resolved, they act out their narrative in the weathering blue stone that ages even the innocent. Wizened beyond their childlike forms, they weep with the rain and whistle with the wind. They who see, but do not speak. The watchers of the world.
By Abbey Ness2 years ago in Poets
the whirlwind and the wildfire. Content Warning.
he is a whirlwind - chaos incarnate - torrents and turbulence filling the air with debris that now lands in my realm, before the rainclouds form. a massive front of low pressure dragged behind his highs. but he doesn't know i am a wildfire. his winds give me oxygen to breathe, but he doesn't like the heat and his emotions rain down. stormy tears to put the inferno out. the blaze of my fury subdued. his winds have changed direction, for now. exhausted by his own friction. the earth my fire burns left to renew as it needs to, parenting inventive convenience, for the cycle must continue. but the whirlwind returns, so curious, wanting to be close, and still unaware of how he affects my wild heart of fire. so, i burn and i hiss and i glow. a climax of explosive instinct - a natural reaction, but a hazard nonetheless. and the world demands i put my fire out and block his tornadic gusts. do it or they will do it for me, before they carry on about the weather, "... what a dangerous idea for the wildfire to be so reckless with the whirlwind..."
By ⸘jason alan‽2 years ago in Poets
