She pulled down the random path next to the stones. “You are not alone.” The sun was shining a million sun specks across the sky, and then she saw him standing at the corner of her eyes, beside the little shack. Sarah had been praying for an answer. Her dreams were becoming more intense, vivid, and painful. It was a mystery that became a confession; eye to eye with the man who held the key to her past.
Her initials were carved in the tree. What was it about the blade, the cool feeling of a knife caress her delicate frame, knowing that he wouldn’t pierce her skin. “Have you ever toyed with the dead?” The boy brushed past her on his way to class. The river held a secret, a black bottle with a curse and an immaculate past. They dance around the pyre, and awake the darkness. Sarah felt like the roses under the winter snow. Even the roses know the ghosts.
She would never see past those drunken nights, the hazy memories of infinite black holes and story endings. Alex tore through the bars, those wrinkled story endings he had tossed away. She believed in soulmates, like Tim who sent letters from California and gave his best friend a lethal toxin, before he came back as another person haunted by the ghosts of all his friends who he never rescued. But Sarah, she was haunted by Edger Allen Poe, a graveyard full of stones, and a strange man with a bullet for her dreams and the powers of lightning storms.
He rolled up the winding road. It was past dawn, and her parents away on vacation. The ride to nowhere was infinite, like the marijuana smoke clouds he blew into holy trinity. His father was a bad man, the one he met at the science fair when he was ten. This time she was free to tighten the rope, she played no part in this role. He wanted more than Sarah’s soul. “So you can raise the dead?” Sarah was high like a kite, crying and trying to fight. “What does Granny Charlotte have to say, huh?” He stiffened his grip on her throat, tying the mouth gag with thick rope.
She was sleeping in the back of the old Chevy, Steven saw the neon glow of the red moon overhead, crying because God was dead. Something had to be done to bring her back, but their lack of understanding merely made her fall to the ground. She was drowning. Her wings were losing their shine. She was not divine. The nurses gave her pills that melted in her mouth, that made her dizzy and disheveled and to be forgotten about. After all the torture of losing her wings had terrified her enough to keep believing. She has faith in the foundation of disorder. Sparks eternally bursting within the distant suns of an opposite universe. A puzzle to solve a world over.
Red across the sky, they remarked that it was all an alien lie. But to her it was an omen. The next day, she forgot how to fly. She was tired of being bullied; it was all a conspiracy. She had been testing her limits, she had been trying to overcome this fatigue of awareness, this impending doom.
She was trying to evolve. She had no idea why she even existed, waking up with a lack of recollection within her fragile heart that failed to melt the endless snowflakes that fell upon her thin apparition. The student who had been sent to get her, and seemed paralyzed with fear, as if mocking her. Rumors spread but the girl never found out how she came to such a terrifying episode, only theories about her broken heart.
Her parents locked her away. She slept in constant terror, staring up at the mirrors. Questioning herself, and her sanity, wondering what her revenge would be for this assault on her reality. She looked up to him as he stood over her begging her to comply with the snakes. She was the resistance. She would survive.
Dreams and memories that are now a fantasy, all that appears likened to a dream, may become mere essences of our only reality–If you can find the key you will succeed at claiming your self from the endless loops of time to beat the odds and rise into the skies like an immortal butterfly.
She saw a figure fall before her in the theaters of time
in endless azure acres, her dreams seized on sublime,
they cross the colored picket-fences; an opaque abalone
In the darkness she was closer to God.
His words made, close worn.
She’ll stare upon a point, for along time
into that robin egg-shell blue sky;
fires burn and tables turn,
but the truth we shall decry;
and the road to promise is clear
as freedom is your right.
I stare into the crescent half ,
that lunatic; they called, divine
who traced a northern constellation
across a freckled night; but John Brown
wasn’t black enough to die
so that the ashes of our future were not
brave enough to lie.
To her father, she is still there, she is waiting
between despair, hope and freedom, but for
the arms of the orphan girl in hers
the world is watching; this is our land
this is your land, this is mine.
the robin is perched on a fence post
with her dreams that painted the sky
as the orphan girl can hear a song
humming across civilizations; a constellation
of lights, surpass the twisted wire; sown
by fervent threads of inspiration.
She swears she can still hear her singing that calm
melody that carried them across the winds, set sail to liberty
from now and then to a far off new tomorrow
like ashes scattered over the hill,
was the voice of Emmett Louis Till;
to the orphan in the fields of indigo; love born within
their marrow, life sprung within their soul.