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Literature Text
Embers flee from sight,
waning sun,
rising moon.
Threaded across both skies, he stands,
watching…
Fire quakes the horizon,
his spine shrinks below fingers reaching for lights.
Flight taken through barren wind,
Forging shadows in absence of warmth.
Dying of the Flame…
Lightning races and breaks the giants’ grasp.
Graves of time beckon.
The ground bleeds from pages left open.
Those still wanting to be read.
Gathering them by illusion, the Spirit changes his path,
and I become the watcher.
His mask bares feathers and bone,
both rattle like bark touched by rain.
More of them come, cackling, crying through the storm.
Their breathing rhythm echoes thunder, growing in the dark.
Crawling from the woods, bodies twist between foliage.
Hiding pretends my protection.
Speechless laughter leaves me still, hollow.
Bindings invade my mind.
Stripped of writing, the truths have gone.
Where he takes them I do not know.
His reflection has stolen time…
waning sun,
rising moon.
Threaded across both skies, he stands,
watching…
Fire quakes the horizon,
his spine shrinks below fingers reaching for lights.
Flight taken through barren wind,
Forging shadows in absence of warmth.
Dying of the Flame…
Lightning races and breaks the giants’ grasp.
Graves of time beckon.
The ground bleeds from pages left open.
Those still wanting to be read.
Gathering them by illusion, the Spirit changes his path,
and I become the watcher.
His mask bares feathers and bone,
both rattle like bark touched by rain.
More of them come, cackling, crying through the storm.
Their breathing rhythm echoes thunder, growing in the dark.
Crawling from the woods, bodies twist between foliage.
Hiding pretends my protection.
Speechless laughter leaves me still, hollow.
Bindings invade my mind.
Stripped of writing, the truths have gone.
Where he takes them I do not know.
His reflection has stolen time…
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Please Read!Tell me, what do you see?
This poem was written outside as I watched the sun disappear behind the trees. I tried to soak in my surroundings. Threaded across both skies refers to the trees (as their branches looked like threads to me)
Both skies means one for the rising moon, and the setting sun, (which is the Spirit descending upon the land.) He is watching everything as he enters the woods.
“The sun has a shadow, though he cannot see it.”
This is the character I am referring too, the one who steals time. [link]
This Spirit is that of flame. I associate him with Native American myth.
His mask bares feathers and bone, both rattle like bark touched by rain.”
This is the storm that follows him, one that comes from the woods. What would it look like? Sound like? I tried to bring elements alive through thunder, rhythm and movement. Everything around you is breathing, alive.
He appears often in Shaman-like clothing and is often followed by the nightly storm of Spirits that watch over the forest, making sure the books close and dreams remain hidden.
I state this Spirit cannot see his reflection. Maybe it is his shadow stealing the stories, ‘time’ I label them as they are aged like the woods.
Feel free to use your imagination.
Thank you very much for reading!!!
Characters and writings are © to Amanda Klammer
© 2009 - 2024 Aikya
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