7 tall strung bows 4 snap 2 are made into harps 1 withering and rotted 7 in straight lines scattered threw times yet echoed here as the same 7 strung bows standing face to face laying flat on the ground A flower of red spilling blood in rivets weeping mother, dont you cry for you see , before your eyes the truth of what has come of your youngest son child of Man , not a man are all children what have they built? they have yet to be tested and their test still remains Risen from the Ashes of what once torn , degraded , corrupted a thought no longer remains within too often said words which lose their meaning what are we but our actions? as one and One (all everything, everyone, collective of human race) what truths do our actions speak? all and none truth ever present , yet seldom fully seen even from ones own eyes none persieves the whole and yet the whole remains. comprised of its small, seemingly insignificant parts seek those which seek truth who are often proccuted for lending light to it for as long as any choose to reviel truths there will always be those whod seek to conciel it those which conciel truths rarely have truths of their own. 4 rivers cross , tall trees aganst sunset shade of the mountain one when one crumbles to what was once supressed gain strength to rise. a tree withers and dies but makes room for the sapling in it death sometimes one which would have not otherwise thrived as will be as to be its echos defined in all life and existance a rod of silver first standing up , then turned on itside the harps begin to play and fade behind the rod the remaining bows snap and crumble into themselves and burn to ashes time washes away the ashes but the ashes feed the soil and new sapling grows 7 roots dig deep 4 boughs reach for the sky 2 bare fruit and 1 seeks to claim the tree for its own.
Posted on: Fri, 01 Nov 2013 18:27:38 +0000
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