literature

Remnant of a Requiem

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Published: Apr 15, 2013

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Literature Text

^{I. I don’t want to dream anymore.

II. There’s the distortion of stardust and twilight spreading inside downtrodden lungs.

Somehow, the sky had learned my secrets, and it has forced me to bury its body in my system like a funeral despite the fact that these hands have scratched its constellations back when they were bare remnants of dust and gods and ice.

But all these brittle bird bones could do was nothing but fracture an expanse of glass and grind the fragments through broken teeth

[and I couldn’t weep openly.]

Who knew I could drown in my own ocean?

III.

IV. Maybe I’m still sober, or maybe I’ve learned how to remember too much it hurts. The door ways through my chest have refused to open for me, and I realized how much I could starve from trying to forget.

All I could ever wish for was rain.

(the pitter-patter of petrichor,

a rhapsody billowing with every note,

the taste of autumn in my mouth...)

V. And it started to unfold like the wind, a land filled with the revelations of unknown childhood, the laughter of trees.

The gathering of doves, the travelling of leaves.

It was hard to believe how much all of this could easily be cupped in palms drenched from weaving sunlight,

weary of stretching bare feet to parallel countries.

This should be a country.

My country.

VI. My soul took a journey, wandering through the courses of a universe spun by the bounds of a dreamer. It’s amazing how this barren island called a body hasn’t quaked from the fluidity of movement, traipses of a dance only accomplished by the contortionisms of ideas, of daydreams.

It’s a mystery how the softness of a pillow could hold a land bigger than the expanse of my body. How a flower could learn to bloom without the passing of Spring, how the stars and the sun could stay suspended at the same sky without fear of collision, how the milky rivers could sing a song I could understand...

My wonderland.

VII. And somehow, I never understood why the most beautiful creations are the most fragile.

The earth crumbled, soil darkened into ash and the chambers of a once-ignited heart deconstructed, burning pillars savaged by the crash of boiling seas.

I spoke of an unknown language, lips glistening with a voice that finally didn’t constrict air. The dissonance of my words flew to the heavens, the shattered sky sewing itself together.

Wildfires were tamed,

waters calmed,

paper-boned bruises turned into wings.

Branches curled upwards like tides,

VIII. but Death only laughed.

IX. 3 o clock light blistered this world,

melting like candle wax.

Yet why have I not cried once?

X. I don’t want to dream anymore...}

NaPoWriMo Day 16

Long is long... (and this needs a better title. Really

)

A prosetry attempt (and the longest piece I have ever made. EVER!)

This is really raw, and I made it right on the spot. Long things should never be taken for granted, so this kept me up til 5 in the morning!