1.6.10

[xunpredictablel]

|Title| Untitled
|Rating| PG

If words were to catch on your ear,
Would they be words of a distant time?
The faded words of forgotten conversations, faces.

A mirror passes and you glimpse, your eyes linger on a face that seemed ageless.
Where have you seen that face before?
Your eyes tremble away at your faith in an unrelenting god.

My hands stumble upon you,
but the touch seems familiar.
Alas, I am but a stranger
To your recognizing eyes.

Souls stepping over each other, catching and falling.
Graceless figures in white and yours is learning to stand again.
Flashing visions of a forest.

You are a youngling, child.

Your face lights up with the sun, your arms as long as branches of a willow tree, legs as sturdy and dainty as an oak's roots.
When you stretch your arms up so high to the sky, do your legs want to dance?

Yet you know not of who you are.
Let nature comfort you, girl.
For the materials hold no gain in you.

You prospered long ago.

[Alicia's Ghost]

This poem gave me tingles. The kind of tingles that comes with brushing up against a mysterious magic attached to ancient ruins, ancient powers beyond the grave. I feel as if I'm trembling on the edges of a smearing line, toeing along the edge as I peer in through my fingers, afraid of fully staring at it. The peek is enough: my soul is restless with the desire to connect.

In this, I'm seeing your view of religion, and it's one that I've always found fascinating. In it, is the full flavors of a true belief in certain otherness while rejecting the very foundations of the cliche and relentlessness of church and god. You linger with the soul, and to read this meeting of old and new, of the adaptation and resourcefulness to change when the path you're walking requires it, is truly beautiful.

'Graceless figures in white and yours is learning to stand again.' is absolutely perfect. The line lingered on my tongue, making me pause when I would have continued to read.

It was a great write.