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December 5, 2012
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In the beginning
a voice cried in the nothingness,
and nothingness became,
then things went boom,
back to back those two,
creator and destroyer,
And breathing over the waters
the preserver wandered -
or so the stories go.

They meander,
our stories,
we weave them in in some form
or another,
creator, preserver, destroyer –
things begin,
things last for a time,
things go boom.
How red the blood,
dripping drop
by lone drop
to scatter in the wind
as they weave their dance,
a seed to bloom to wither,
and then to seed.

Taking a deep breath,
I ponder how we weave the tales -
I think of Siddhartha
sitting by the river,
and those who wandered
across the desert,
and blood on a cross,
and Schrodinger’s cat
and the eyes of a dying woman.

Staring at the wasteland before me
I bat away the flickering shapes -
specters, ghosts, goblins
crawling in the midday heat -
their stories get old.

The sun feels good on my shoulders.
Thirsty, I take a deep drink.
Pondering on how we create the explanations of things...
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:iconmatthiaswilsman:
MatthiasWilsman Featured By Owner Dec 5, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Very good, I like the ending as if you are stepping away from a dream or a really good story where you are absorbed.
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:iconknittingknots:
knittingknots Featured By Owner Dec 5, 2012
Thanks...
Reply
:iconmatthiaswilsman:
MatthiasWilsman Featured By Owner Dec 5, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
NP :)
Reply
:iconskittlehappymatt:
skittlehappymatt Featured By Owner Dec 5, 2012  Hobbyist Photographer
Nice.
Reply
:iconknittingknots:
knittingknots Featured By Owner Dec 5, 2012
Thanks!
Reply
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