Broken Truce

Okay... this is an older piece that I changed around just a little.  No music.  Having a lot of writing due (end o' semester fun).  Might post a piece later... but have to get schoolwork done.

Broken Truce
Well I am sorry about breaking the truce...but the muse visited me.
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It had been two years

The roar of the bug in an all drowning rhythm hurtled him down the road. The syncopated movement of engine pumped the vehicle down the artery.

It had been two years

His hands clutched the steering wheel. The flow of traffic clotted. Critical mass had been reached. His watch had stopped, removing any ability for composure or preparation. He was supposed to meet her at 6:00. His watch, which earlier leisurely passed the minutes, now marched forward with no mercy. To check its passage, he glanced at the timepiece…

It had been two years

With nothing more than a fiery glance their friendship had been consummated. Once begun, the pair became disciples of Dionysus. Like fugitives from constraint they ran through the Elysian Fields. Mad to live—mad to save—mad to be saved. Talking, laughing, scurrying aimlessly—lost to all save the other. In an almost inescapable lunacy, life emanated from their eyes. Joy unabashedly bellowed from conversations. All they had to do was keep running. Always moving forward, always ahead of that which sought to destroy them.

It had been two years

However, Olympus was brought low. The same gods that united—now ripped asunder. Perhaps the laughter was so honest, it was blasphemous—their joy was so pure, it was obscene—a camaraderie so true it showed all else, even the gods, nothing more than falsehoods. Or simply as the friendship they shared was too beautiful for this world, accordingly the gods became righteous in their anger. The fates released their vengeance on the friends who had consistently thwarted their plans, and the bonds were ripped apart—not with a bang, but a whimper. The roar of his engine sounded out its monotone requiem.

It had been two years

He contacted her. Wanting to keep their cautious movements concealed from the gods they had angered…each risked renewal of the friendship. In messages secreted from the fates the two had decided to convene. Diminutive notes they hoped would escape the god’s attention.

It had been two years

He had reached the exit. The streets filled with artificial life. Traffic with darkened interiors prowled the streets, coveting their spaces. Lining the streets stood storefronts in carnival like appearance. Through the cacophony of eccentric homes lit by neon suns, he looked for their meeting place. There it was—through a dimly lit brown sign welcomed a public house. He parked in the rear and looked at his watch…it was six on the dot.

It had been two years

He walked towards the door. Behind it he knew, he would see the truth. Stripped from the distance, stripped from the safety…what was waiting behind the door? Opening the door, he boldly crossed the threshold. In the dimly lit interior he began a search in the twilight. At first he could find nothing. His search became focused…could it be that lady with her back to me? No…could it be…no not there….

It had been two years

Then he stopped, and looked at the other side of the bar. There she was. “Andy?” she questioningly said. “Is that you,” he replied. While the watchful greeting may have been cautious, the friendship was too strong to remain bounded. He quickly moved to her as she rose for an embrace. When they pulled away from the other, she told him “You haven’t changed at all,” and he, he looked in her eyes, and the warm enveloping fire had been ignited.

It had only been yesterday.

…and somewhere, unnoticed, the fates stirred.

The Dream Weaver

Music:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XrJW33JkVlM&feature=BFa&list=AL94UKMTqg-9D5mYyiAH1pjmlixub_HGKf&lf=list_related (Afro Celt Sound System - Eireann) Just so you know, the language in the song is gaelic

The footsteps of the Giant had stopped

Lumbering trod

Smashing

Crashing

Only to be replaced

By sharp points

Of a spider’s silent crawl

Sudden pulse

As pointed legs

Made unexpected and sudden sharp moves

With surprising accuracy

So it goes

She was a weaver

A weaver of dreams

With seductive moves

Elegant deadly

She would pepper her tapestry

From remnants of truths

She knew her buyer wanted to see

Selling in truth nothing

But taking everything

Her dream weaving had a cost though

For in order for her to weave

It cost everything

And took nothing

But only after it had cost everything

She had a partner

In her weaving

Supposedly at least

They were never seen

Never to be seen

For that was too much truth

For her tapestry

But an excuse was ready

Someone would have to be sick

Always sick

Once they had together worked on a tapestry

But the foundation was wrong

It was said to have a leak

Although it was never really clear

If something was leaking out

Or in

They got in trouble

She got off

Like I said, she was a weaver

A weaver of dreams

How did he know?

For he was a weaver as well

His flowing fabric was built on lies

This he would freely admit
Visions of what should be
Visions of what could be
Desires called to life
 

For it was only by using these

That held images glorious

As precious

As fragile

As it was victorious

Raw images presented the primal

Truth could emerge

A strong child of great fortitude could be born

Perhaps his fabric

Was too brazen

Too savage

To be of any use to her

He knew he had not played fair

For he had played her game

The game she had taught him all too well

About the importance of the reveal

So he revealed too little

For her to use

Perhaps this is why

She threw his truth back at him

And quickly travelled to the eyes

Of another potential purchaser

To buy her woven gossamer

So it goes

For after all

She was a weaver

A weaver of dreams

Cat's Cradle

 music:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4heQyu1bijs&feature=related (Riding the Waves Afro Celt Sound System)

“Kris Kross Applesauce”

So begins the rhyme

The mantra

As delicate svelte fingers

Begin the seductive dance

A slight caress of the palm

Followed by fingers

Moving across fingers

Catching only a thread

“Kris Kross Applesauce”

The rhyme and delicate dance

An inviting glance

A bitten lip

As the fingers continue their parade

Slowly manufacturing a simple prison

Bound by yarn

Softly reveals itself

To him

“Kris Kross Applesauce”

Arrives now as a challenge

Does he dare?

A moments thought

A hesitation

Followed by excited exploration

A trace of finger

Downy fur

Exciting

Inviting

A moment of trepidation

A glance

Her eyes half open

Her lips

little more than a desire laden

Upturned smile

But the danger of the chasm persists

Dare he go in?

A question answered

By the soft slip

Of a finger into the unknown

“Kris”

A charge of uncertainty

“Kross”

An impending doom

“Applesauce”

And with the release of fingers

Arrives a release

A relief

And after the passing of laugher

From partners

Each to each

The mantra begins again

“Kris Kros Applesauce”

Beckoning Bard

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yrch66gdjjk (U2’s Even better than the real thing)

You should know the drill by now.  

He stood

Wearing grin

Outside the hall

Masquerade within

A glorious soirée

Enchanting intoxication

Where the fat grew fat

While the thin grew thin

He stood outside

A bardic beacon

Not for the hollow

Shadowed Denizens within

No

What had made the dance

So mesmerizing

Always

Was her

Simply her

A beauty that would shame Aphrodite

With form captivating

Seduction arrived

With the slightest smile

Or even the mere promise

of one

This is what most saw

This glory incarnate

Immaculate

But she was so much more

A wealth found in her eyes

If one truly looked

True

They would find

Intelligence unbounded

Combined with creativity

Unknown

Looking deep

He could see

This most precious gift

Her soul

That is where he looked

And

Before it could be stopped

His soul

Felt the loving embrace

Of her

As her soul

Found the uncompromising

And undaunted shelter

In his

Simply her

For she was

The second holder

Of the truth

A truth so bold

Brazen, honest

That it could only be approached

With the chiffon

Of fiction

With its shy stuttering approach

Lest its powerful pierce

Strike and destroy

As the dance continued

Coddled movements became fluid

Crippled legs grew strong

As longing hands were made brave

Escapes were made

From the dance made farce

In moments stolen

Where

It was

Simply him

Simply her

Time froze

While

Passion burned

So hot

It melted the sun

Into liquid light

Diffused by

Embracing night

The draw of sister moon

Pulling together

In force irresistible

Electric touches

Burning a consuming heat

While the two

Would devour and destroy

And rise again

The two awoke

Within the other

As fierce passion fused

The forging of one

A glorious meld

In power frightening

Simply her

Simply him

She was shocked

She had forgotten

So he stood

The beckoning bard

Waiting for the shadow

To emerge to form

All the while

Wearing a grin

Simply her

Simply him

The Storm

music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fn9JLXWshpA (Peter Gabriel's Purple Sleeves) 
 

The Storm is over

Or

Does it linger

A question known

But answer

Escapes finger

Of some

Save

The two

Present in

The slight turn

The knowing grin

Owned by her

Owned by him

A tale of separate souls

Longing to be made one

Whispered words possessing power

So precious,

So dangerous,

So

True

So the dream-weaver

Rain-dancer

Wildcatter wove

Words of fiction

Knowing and wanting

Each syllabic soft touch

To land a gentle caress

Calling truth while

Delivering nourishing rain

Upon planes parched

Skies laden

Thick in humidity

Wanting

Longing

If only

For the eternal moment

Releasing

The deluge