Reflections
In the
W A T E R
:i:
And out of the pen-tip, it came; like a dawn not yet arrived, light- the soul fine wine, golden to the silver touch of fingertips.
It gripped its slender body, at times caressing, love, like the kisses under cherry blossoms; skeletons already ashes and traveling grey, like a half completed sketch. Thousands of angels along the wind. They had no wings- only eyes, black and small, and invisible as they scattered like Lucifer's seeds upon the earth of the heart.
And at others, it ravaged, torn flesh and torn screams, whose voice and words were rearranged by the slender, slender tip, a dancer trailing the red nocturne in her wake. More elegant than Chopin. At least, that's what she thought.
And the echoes came, changed from what they first were changed, no in essence, yet to the very heart, the very soul. If they had a soul. If they would let her.
And out of the pen-tip, it came.
My hands, which I no longer recognize.
:i:
Author's Note: I felt a bit better after writing this. Time-2:39minutes. Its more my own, than AF, but feel free to piece it with any character. :D
CC Appreciated as usual. Please review.