11-07-2018, 09:18 PM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 360px; line-height:120%; font-family: calibri; font-size: 8.5pt; text-align: justify; margin-bottom:5px"][ ❖ ] ;; – Caught amongst the tangle of strands, each drawn together until about the mind and body, so slight a thing, may life be found. Gentle is the spark of it, warmth upon coals are slight they burn, merely waiting for the correct fuel upon which to feast, allowed chance and time to grow. But what of those who dance all too close to the flames hungry for taste of flesh, heated beneath the on-slaughter of it all, gleaming shades of red and orange painted across them.
What of the child who had felt only the cruel touch of hatred, felt fire within the first breath to scrape along dry throat.
It mattered not the time within which slight the cinnamon dusted head found the soft surface of pillow swallowed amongst heavy fabrics, warmth found in the mass of it, almost make-shift nest drawn about them with quiet care. Lost within the heavy flow of it are they, watched as the hours ticked by with the gentle sound of clock, faint the sound of it, distance and that drawn about head muffling it only slightly. Alien is this space, room of wood and stone, the faint sounds of others as they slept filling it. How they long for the dying crackle of fire, the warmth of it added to that of discarded pelts once drawn about them within place of thin fabric, or else the heavy clamour of tools, the strike of hammer upon heated metal.
Soft exhale of breath, uneasy the sound about crackling edges. They were no longer welcome within such, though upon their own thoughts did such a thing hinge, faint the want mixing with heavy the anguish of heart all too young to bare understanding, to see reason. Easier may it have been to question and speak, find words contained within the minimal vocabulary they held within this moment, but never would the idea find root. Within was gaze turned, the want of heart all that mind may linger upon for a time, the innocence of youth touched with the sour note of selfish want.
Rough the shove of material shed from small body, twist of lips betraying slight shake, presence of tears about the curve of eyes removed with jerky, painful swipes. Child they may be but so too came with it the struggle to become something more, beyond the restriction of skin, this being of slight knowledge and import, viewed as something more when they were nothing – it was as she had said. Shuddering the breath, pace taken up one stumbling and unsure. Never may they speak of the journey which drew them from their room situated by the stairs and down into the empty bar, chairs flipped up atop tables and all packed away, devoid of life, for mind was caught elsewhere, found interest contained in slight the fragment of memory.
Protest of old hinges, such is which drew forth mind once more, watery the earthen toned eyes which rose towards them. Brief the flicker of fear upon soft features, at once worried another had been awoken with the sound, yet none seemed to have risen. Thankfully for so small a grace they allow it to close behind them with a gentle click, turning attention towards the beach. Pretty was it within the light of sun, expanse of tan given the sheen of gold and amongst ti points of light, glimmering light of those minuscule grains that bore tones of white. Yet it was stunning beneath the cascading light of moon, high within expanse of velvet sky.
Silver and white swirled together atop sands left chilled, the spray of the ocean as it rushed forth glimmering and bright, sparkling points which drew young eye, light the exhale toned with wonder. Rare was it they were amongst those that wandered the stretch of beach within the depth of night, often finding meaningless tasks or games enough to put them into state ready for sleep, but almost different was this night. Beneath the sound of the waves faint was the voices, risen in gentle sound yet strange was the edge, grating as about the ears it danced, in a way harsh though something within it sought to soften until it grew enticing. Slow was the tread, press of small paws into sand that had felt the moisture of the ocean as it rose up along it, grazing along their toes as they walked by the waters edge seeking the origin of the song caught beneath the oceans.
What of the child who had felt only the cruel touch of hatred, felt fire within the first breath to scrape along dry throat.
It mattered not the time within which slight the cinnamon dusted head found the soft surface of pillow swallowed amongst heavy fabrics, warmth found in the mass of it, almost make-shift nest drawn about them with quiet care. Lost within the heavy flow of it are they, watched as the hours ticked by with the gentle sound of clock, faint the sound of it, distance and that drawn about head muffling it only slightly. Alien is this space, room of wood and stone, the faint sounds of others as they slept filling it. How they long for the dying crackle of fire, the warmth of it added to that of discarded pelts once drawn about them within place of thin fabric, or else the heavy clamour of tools, the strike of hammer upon heated metal.
Soft exhale of breath, uneasy the sound about crackling edges. They were no longer welcome within such, though upon their own thoughts did such a thing hinge, faint the want mixing with heavy the anguish of heart all too young to bare understanding, to see reason. Easier may it have been to question and speak, find words contained within the minimal vocabulary they held within this moment, but never would the idea find root. Within was gaze turned, the want of heart all that mind may linger upon for a time, the innocence of youth touched with the sour note of selfish want.
Rough the shove of material shed from small body, twist of lips betraying slight shake, presence of tears about the curve of eyes removed with jerky, painful swipes. Child they may be but so too came with it the struggle to become something more, beyond the restriction of skin, this being of slight knowledge and import, viewed as something more when they were nothing – it was as she had said. Shuddering the breath, pace taken up one stumbling and unsure. Never may they speak of the journey which drew them from their room situated by the stairs and down into the empty bar, chairs flipped up atop tables and all packed away, devoid of life, for mind was caught elsewhere, found interest contained in slight the fragment of memory.
Protest of old hinges, such is which drew forth mind once more, watery the earthen toned eyes which rose towards them. Brief the flicker of fear upon soft features, at once worried another had been awoken with the sound, yet none seemed to have risen. Thankfully for so small a grace they allow it to close behind them with a gentle click, turning attention towards the beach. Pretty was it within the light of sun, expanse of tan given the sheen of gold and amongst ti points of light, glimmering light of those minuscule grains that bore tones of white. Yet it was stunning beneath the cascading light of moon, high within expanse of velvet sky.
Silver and white swirled together atop sands left chilled, the spray of the ocean as it rushed forth glimmering and bright, sparkling points which drew young eye, light the exhale toned with wonder. Rare was it they were amongst those that wandered the stretch of beach within the depth of night, often finding meaningless tasks or games enough to put them into state ready for sleep, but almost different was this night. Beneath the sound of the waves faint was the voices, risen in gentle sound yet strange was the edge, grating as about the ears it danced, in a way harsh though something within it sought to soften until it grew enticing. Slow was the tread, press of small paws into sand that had felt the moisture of the ocean as it rose up along it, grazing along their toes as they walked by the waters edge seeking the origin of the song caught beneath the oceans.