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| Subject: We Remember Why We Were | |
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Author: Bagger Vance (prose) |
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Date Posted: 01:39:08 01/22/08 Tue The man with black on his skin stood by the great wall that shrunk with time. He held the apple that got philosophers talking and history's tongue wagging! He waited as time rubbed against his legs waiting for flowers to pour out of his back. His eyes roamed the canvas before him. It was the undiscovered country. Not so much that it was virgin, but because people were lost to its banal charms only when they wept in their dreams or breathed their last. Much a sigh he released when he recalled the last time his hand brushed the first mote of colors that were to be the making of Eden. He was a maker of all that can be unmade and limited only by that which your tongue can't shape! Unmoved and indifferent to the ebbs and tides, the ridges and grooves. Seconds are just as lengthy as hours, as short as a millenium. His illustrated fingers hushed back his raging prophetic hair, just as black with sombre and wild as profane childless stars. The clouds of sorrow. The winds of a broken promise. The brittle land of a barren soul. Everything changed, but nothing changed, and still things they are ever changing! The paradox of knowing, the paradigm of living, the two edged sword of wearing why we were. [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |