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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Friday, December 25, 2009

GRAY




She let her eye-lids fall
And blinked,
Sadly lazily.
Clouds crowded the oppressed sky,
An indifferent world turned gray,
Cold rain fell
And the young green country grass was full of slush
For her to walk in,
Barefoot
with blood-hungry leeches waiting…

Out in that open space,
There was no room,
Only heavy air,
Heavy breath,
Heavy heart,
Dull, dull weather,
Heavy steps
Through the thick, brown mud,
And that heavy stone
In her fist
With which she shot a bad upward aim.
It hit the fallen ancient tree
What was meant to kill the rain-cloud.
Her sky remained imprisoned,
So did she.

The heavens clapped
And roared and laughed
And slapped harder
Than before.

It was salty
And sarcastic,
It was cold
And ugly- the mud that she tasted,
Dipped in the blood of her palm;
It was her punishment
For losing the battle again,
So she rode back, unarmed and disgraced.
It still rained,
The mission failed,
As usual.

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