A whisper, A tear…

And I heard it as a whisper,

Rustled in the leaves,

A tear that came from nothing,

A moment in the breeze.

I felt the warming light,

Lost within the leaves,

Like spots of molten gold,

A shadowed golden weave.

And what did I hear in that whisper,

I barely made out the words,

I strained to listen closely,

To be sure of what i heard.

The tree was being thoughtful,

Reflecting on its years,

It saw the world in silence,

And that’s what made the tears.

For a tree does not know violence,

It doesn’t know how to hurt,

it lives beneath the sunlight,

It eats moisture from the dirt.

So when it sees the sadness,

Caused by those that hate,

All it can do is whisper,

And hope to change man’s fate.

 

 

 

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Sigh.

    In the stolen night, she danced with the fireflies, dressed in dry moss from the ancient tree. She danced to the music of the toads and the wind.She danced under the light of the moon and the old stars. She danced in circles, until she was too dizzy and fell to the soft damp earth that was her momentary stage. She breathed deep, the smell of the forest so strong. She turned to the old man of the wood.
    “Was that a good dance?” she asked.
    The wind blew through the leaves of the giant tree, its massive trunk creaking and moaning an answer only she could hear.
    “Why thank you old man,” she smiled, her voice floating on the same breeze.
    To look at her she was dirty. This waif of a girl covered in the dirt of the woods. Her face dark, arms even darker, matched only by the filth over her legs. This was a creature who left bathing to those that cared. To look upon her was almost sad, until she looked back and you saw her eyes. These were the eyes of wonder, of faith and survival. They were eyes that looked into your heart, grabbed hold, and squeezed until you could not breathe. She was innocence and beguile, magic and truth. She was more than she appeared, at least that’s what the old man thought.
    The tree was older than the forest. In truth he was the father of the forest. His seeds floating down sun to moon and moon to sun, for a million days. Each tree a son or grandson, or great, great, great…well you understand. He was proud of his dominion, proud of his sons and happily spent the hours being pleased of himself. He never thought of a daughter, never wanted for such a thing, until she came to his roots.
    She was small for a tree, he remembered thinking, and moved around too much for one of his kin. She had found a break in the ground between his roots and had fallen asleep to escape the cold. He took pity on the tiny thing and cradled her, warmed her and sung with the wind and leaf. He took her in and as the rain came he did something he had not done in a thousand years. He moved, he willed his roots to close in and shield the sapling from the wet and cold. With that she became his and he became hers and the days were much more exciting than they were before.
    The old man knew she was not truly his. He knew the kin of this sapling. His roots were old and went for miles under the soft blanket of the earth mother. He was aware of the trees that moved. He had seen their cities, heard the screams of his children that built those cities. He had witnessed entire generations killed by the walking trees and their tools. He was sad over the loss of so many, but with this small one he would try to understand them.
    “Old man!” she snapped him out of his trance.
    “Old man! Are you in your past again?” she winked and kicked out her heel. “Don’t make me dance again, cause I will!”
    If a tree could smile, then the old man would have a smile 15 feet wide. The wind rustled leaves and his bark cracked and crinkled.
    “Well, I love you too old man,” she whispered to the leaves.
    Years past, as years do, and the sapling became a woman and the woman became old, but never as old as the old man. her hair got whiter, her dancing got slower and her voice became quieter…
    “OLD MAN!!”
    …almost.
    The wind replied, “yyyeeesssss?”
    “I am old, I can’t dance. I can hear you, but can’t see. I have lived with you for a lifetime and learned so much. I remember my cradle, deep in your roots and I thank you for your kindness, your care and your love.”
    Her eyes, though cloudy, still burned with such life, as she fell to the earth with a sigh as her last breath.
    The old man saw her fall
    If trees could cry, he did.
    The ground seemed to tremble, as the earth seemed to move. His roots came to hold her, bring her back to her home. He cradled her gently, as she was a babe. His roots closed around her as the wind hit his leaves.
    Those who could hear it would have spun a tall tale…about the song in the wind that seemed too sad to be real. The forest went quiet as the old man sung. One more of his saplings, but this was no son.
    If trees could love…
    A tree did love.

Tell Me…

Tell me a secret,

One that would scare,

Something horrible,

You never would share.

Tell me a lie,

To make me feel worse,

Some evil tantrum,

About an evil curse.

Tell me a story,

That’s too long to end,

Leave me listening,

Like an old, lost friend.

Tell me the truth,

Define the ills of man,

I will listen without judgement,

For as long as I can.

If you can’t do it,

I won’t get too mad,

Most tend to wander,

Forgetting what they had.

Let me tell you something,

Something lost in time,

I am stuck here forever,

For one simple crime.

 

The Rip.

It was a loud noise, not a boom, but a rip in the air. All eyes looked up at the sky. All eyes around the entire globe looked for the source of the noise. Over time it was placed in the backs of memory, in time most forgot the strange noise.

When it happened again, louder than before, loud enough to shake a mountain and upset the waves on every ocean, no one forgot and attention was placed firmly on the tear in the sky.

Within 6 months the cult of the end was across the globe. Men women and children sure that the end was coming. There were riots and looting on a scale unprecedented in human history. There were deaths, not just by the rioters, but by suicide. Governments held grand councils to try to figure out how to calm the minds of those sure the end was coming.

The third rip shook the planet with a mild rumble. Nothing that caused much damage, but it was every corner of the earth. The cult of the end dropped to their knees to pray, the rest spurned with fear and anger, took to the streets. Armies were called in to stop the carnage, this only created more carnage and within 4 days 20% of the world’s population was no more.

The sheer depth of the loss was too much for many leaders. Governments lost those that lead them by gun, rope or knife. Over a billion people lost to insanity and attempts to stop it. Bodies were left where they lay and slowly the world slipped into disease. Hospitals were over crowded and unable to keep up with the sheer numbers of ill and injured. Many closed their doors and soon basic care was unavailable to most.

This was the state of the world when the final rip was heard and felt across the land. The noise was loud enough to drop every human to their knees holding their ears to block the painful blare of the end. The power of it shattered mountains, drove towering waves to the shores of the kneeling masses. Long dormant volcanoes burst with fire and the plates that all lived on shifted violently.

The air became thin and full of dust. Those left living slowly struggled to get a breath as the atmosphere bled into space. The sun was the last to pay a visit, finally able to shine all its power on the earth. The land started to burn as the planet turned through the day.

This was the end for those still on the earth…

 

Peripheral

In the softest light, she almost looks real.
How she twirls her hair, absently, without thought.
Eyes empty as her heart, that crooked smile frozen on her lips.
She moves, looking up at me.
Her lips part, “oh sorry, didn’t see you there.”
Almost a whisper too loud for me to hear.

That’s how it is, almost but not there.

She has a way with whispers.

A moment of silence.

It was almost too quiet, no wind or traffic noise, just me staring at an intersection that seemed frozen in time. The sky was dark and full of stars, even with the artificial light shining from lampposts and neon clad store windows. Yet here was a silent peace, a break in the reality of a city night. No cars or humans, no strays or distant roars.

It was a perfect moment that made me hold my breath to ensure it was complete. 1….2….3….4….
I counted as my lungs began to burn. I strained to let the silence live. It was enough to bring a tear. I felt it roll down my cheek, but I made no movement to wipe it away. I dared not, nothing should interrupt this briefest of joys. I stood swaying as the oxygen left my blood, the light-headed dizziness hitting me. I held on…and all went dark.

I awoke to a small crowd of drunken Samaritans. Stooped over me like concerned Grandmothers. They slurred words of encouragement as I ignored their concern. I heard cars and the rush of wind. I heard planes and horns, sirens and screams. I stood and brushed away the human noise, I  ran…to find the silence, to find a moment that would never be again.

I haven’t stopped running.