He passes through your life a shade. A shadow confined to the very edges of darkness and light, he shimmers as he barely exists. Names are given, a personality is painted, and a half image of a man is left. It dissolves like a distant memory as reaching bonds are snapped by the force of departure. Neither cry nor sigh is given in respect. Just a lonely memory that walks alone. Above the moon guides the steps of the lost souls below. They find comfort in the darkness away from the light. A sleeping sin that hums like a forgotten tune. I hear the words still…
There is no passion like forgotten passion. No love like lost love. We journey on towards the light, forever bound by the night. And with the coming day we cry in dismay as we slowly vanish before the warmth. Never to truly know the sun, but forever given a small glance. Just a look at what we will never have.
Sometimes when I contemplate how many people hate me I cry. My tears roll down a bronco sleeve and land upon my writing desk. Often I push my tears around literally, with my finger and trace my heart’s desire. As the tears begin to dwindle I retrace their sorrow to understand the depression of their life. A full circle of life, a half cup of hope. Regardless the amount of tears and the amount of traces I do they never stay. They always die.
If you walk from the beaches of Dreadbin and follow the river inland for a mile you will reach a giant forest. There are many names for the trees found here, but most people in this area call them Blackwater Forest. The Queen’s road runs throughout this land so travelers may be surprised to find that the path disappears after you exit the forest. The land ends at a cliff and in the distance a mountain range and a large lake can be seen. It is in those mountains that you will find Erindale, home to Queen Victoria and her people.
Erindale rests against the base of Redrock Mountain, named for its unusual stone color. The Palace of the Queen is built into the mountain itself and the palace blends in with the surroundings with its intricate stonework. Forming an expanding semi circle from the royal grounds is the sprawling town made up of fishing huts, homes, forges, taverns, and businesses of every venture. Erindale is a thriving mecca of trade between the inlands and the distant kingdoms across the Dreadbin. The sounds of life, prosperity, and the faint tunes of a lute can often be heard as you approach the main gates.
The city is protected by a forty foot wall made of a combination of red stone and strong timber found in the surrounding hills. The gates themselves though are the true first impression any visitor receives when they come to Erindale. Two enormous slabs of bright red stone stand as pillars of protection against any harm that may come to these people. They are called the Heart Stones and represent the unity of the town behind the Queen. No force has ever conquered the walls of Erindale and some say as long as the red mountain stands none ever shall.
The Priests of Alta meet with the Priestesses of Sinta every year to perform the lighting of the sand. No one really knows what this ritual is or what is done during the ceremony, but everyone grows up knowing of its existence. Erindale is blessed by the light of the sand and the heart of the stone mountain is what keeps that fire safe. It is a comforting thought for those people that live in the town and it provides a connection between the simple minds of the less educated and those with the will to rule.
The rhythmic stomps of the town guard can be heard in the distance as you walk away from the palace and past the business district. The air becomes moist from Crystal Lake which seems to flow under half the town. The sounds of the working sailors and the intriguing advances of the girls on the dock fill the air with excitement and opportunity. Barrels of exotics can be seen being rolled off one ship as raw materials are being hauled onto another. People can also be seen coming off boats and walking with eyes full of excitement at seeing the palace in the distance. Here in Erindale there is something for everyone.
I could watch you break apart piece by piece till all the pieces that made you were at my feet. I would enjoy the sound of your soul hitting the ground. It would sound like hail as it pelts the ground with a willingness to die. A need for finality as shattered self meets shattered moment. Would I glue you back together and lie to your face about retained worth? Or instead admit that something is now gone. Dead and buried. Never to be had again.
I could listen to your music for a lifetime. Resting upon each note, allowing each note to arrest me. Preventing me from escaping, I am enamored by the pull I feel from you. A pull that comes from the plucking of strings as you strum my heart. Picking away at my soul as you shred away my inhibitions.
There is a place in Tennessee that hides a Walden like lake of no importance but to a few. To me.
Here there is a canopy of never ending geese flying high above. They seem to form those cool black and white graphics you see online. Overpowering the clouds above as I sit and watch fish hungrily jump for fat flies hovering above the water. I would fish, but Koreans are horrible fishers and when we get near the water the sea life vanishes. They must smell the sushi I muse as I fill my tobacco pipe. My friends in college my Freshmen year at UT Knoxville made fun of me because I smoked a pipe. I actually enjoy it and find it helps me balance out the interal rage. I like to watch the smoke normally, but here the wind takes it quickly towards God. Wherever God is. Here it feels like he is everywhere. I contemplate this as I take my black book out. I turn to page 44.1.100 and read the second paragraph as I always do. As I have always done since she died.