Visions
Endless sky, vast rolling sand dunes, in the shade of a dreamy gaze, a dancing and tasting cold flame that dissipates as any mirage into a perennial tall tale...
The moon cowls, thousands of salt grains flick up from the velvet sea undulating on bodies perched in endurance after the eagerness of the day...
A dark ominous cloud, rolling low and heavy over a terse and reticent landmare; fog roused from an emphysemic loch crawling upland, a scattered fleet of erring thunderous clouds dropping in its wake; the two fronts collide, cracking and rumbling for supremacy, but keeping their feral ammunition in check...
And the few of the latter days, dwelling under the pale frozen sun, witnessed the oceans solidify to marble plains and the land turned into a pathetic scab from which their husks rose as reverse impalements. Their bodies grew algid and forsook all motion. Their eyes now extinguished by the same canker that sentenced Time to its everlasting demise, stared inured towards the sepulchral vestment of the Cosmos.
Comments
And Jorg, in a sense it's a creation myth although it ends with death, as in absence of motion, hence the vehicle of life. However, nothing perishes, melts away, swayed like dust around, but comes to an ultimate rest, the molding and kneading of the clay has ended; now appears the forms of all forms, the essence profiled with surgical care and dexterity, an archetype that crowns the movement, which controlled and directed, leads to a purpose and runs not aimless, wasted.