And soon the dark came rushing in. Capturing hearts and leaving only sin. Within the wake, only few chose to remain. Restless souls with painted veils; hushed voices all the same. Weary eyes, upward to the skies; sombre clouds cast the end of days. The love of a memory, forgotten till now, could not be contained. To see the morning was a blessing, even in its shades of gray. Now they roam the plains, daring to dream with the horizon’s.
“On the ‘morrow”
Through all the pages, carelessly spread; the story put to rest. With the sequel unwritten, the author no longer has a home. Destitute, lying upon the ground, reminiscing like a stone. Mirages of regret are constant company; the pain of the memory, all that’s left. Praying for the rain to wash away never-ending yesterdays. Is it the pain that makes you feel like you’re still here. Rending memories that hurt, just too much to say. Does the color make you feel in control of life; a life you feel drifting in place. Endless scars that you know will never leave you far from today. We witness the Mundane Beauty when one sees and embraces the absurdity of this experience. Like a dandelion that refuses the breeze; we stand ragged against the storm.
“With Key in Hand”
When he was little, he felt as if the world was his to behold, everyone said it was so. He went through life pursing that American Dream. Blindly following white picket fences to wealth. He has become part of the machine. A self-made wheel, going round and round. As the years past, the promotions and material increased. Yet, he still felt empty in his crowded house. He realized that he had been searching, for a door that was never there. Sober now, he waved goodbye to this, Machine Dream. Though there was a click, he never heard the sound.
Adrian Lobb is a writer living in Colorado.