Windows
It felt like the top of a frozen world up in that tower. There we stood, the tower and I, tall, cold, and prideless upon our wintered mountain. It was of stone, and I of flesh and blood, though our souls were of the same insubstantial, blackened figment that defined out beings. We were one in our lonesome plight. I stood shivering upon the uppermost terrace, gazing out at the world sprawled out below and beyond me. I gazed out through a window in my mind, a window framed by rotting, burnt wood that was caked with mud and ash, a window with panes of dirty, cracked glass. It was all that was left of what had been a most joyful dwelling, a happy home. Life does not permit that one retain such gifts. The mountains extended well beyond my sight, humble and barren, composing an ocean of pitiful lifelessness before me. Surely I was king. The frozen wind, the rushing blood from God's beating heart of ice, bent the grotesque, zombie arms of the unloved trees, the deceased children of this unloved landscape. For all of it, I felt nothing. I was numb.It felt like heaven, up on that mountain. There we stood, the mountain and I, humble, happy, and free. It was of earth, and I of flesh and blood, though our souls of the same substance, rich, whole, and saturated with the spirit of life. We were one in the serene satisfaction with our unity, the contentment that each of us surely felt for the presence of the other. I stood, full of spirit, on the very pinnacle of the mountain, gazing out at the world sprawled out below and beyond me. I gazed through a window in my mind, a window bordered by smooth wood, freshly-painted sky blue, framed by green ivy, and with colorful stained-glass panes opened outward to present an equally colorful world. It was a window looking out from the palace of paradise, framing the beautiful kingdom that lay beyond. Life does not permit that which is bleak to endure forever. The mountains extended well beyond my sight, humble and calm, though with an aura of impenetrable spirit. Surely I was small and powerless. Surely I was content. The cool wind, the smooth and soothing whispers of angels, danced through the sea of green leaves, effortlessly inspiring each to lose itself in its own passionate dance, energetic movement to unheard music. The trees swayed to the song as well; their dance was not of passion but of the infinite wisdom which they shared with the mountains – the mountains had taught them everything they knew, for they were truly loving mothers. Any piece of it could well have made me cry for joy, but I wanted not to cry. It would not do to have my vision now be blurred and clouded by tears yet again. My heart sang the lyrics of the song written by this wondrous scene; I wanted never to tear my eyes and self away.
Poetry by Morgan Cellohead
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Written on 2009-10-15 at 23:08
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