Lullabies and Fantasies

In lullabies our words are dreams as we whisper unheard wishes to a crumbling world.

In fantasies we tell of the hidden evil in a seemingly perfect world, or the hidden beauty in a seemingly evil one.

In reveries, we float to fallen pieces of Heaven; fallen for no reason other than to let us grasp onto happiness and hope in the most trying circumstances.

Let us never outgrow our dreams, and drift to a place of empty solitude, where darkness reigns, not in our eyes but in our hearts, where the sky outside is bright and blue, but clouds will forever shroud our minds from sunlight.

Is there a way to part these curtains of translucent grey lace? Of clouds and mist from blackened seas weary from years of storms? Could the sun shine through this worn out wall, which wishes to crumble from its weight but knows not how?

Silver

Silver. The chimes sway softly beneath the silver moon, their ethereal melodies drifting over silent rooftops, past whispering trees, past a lonely widow, resting on a wicker chair, her hair silver with age.  Past a pair of “star-crossed lovers” who tremble in their sleep, murmuring their love for one another. Almost imperceptible now, the chimes sway ever so slightly, and finally, are still, unbeknownst to the world who still hears their music, half memory, half weightless fantasy. In silver dreams, the chimes continue to sway, the moonlight never fades, and the music carries on through the eternal night.

Paleness

Music drifts past my ears, slipping in and out of the white-walled rooms of my mind. Papers rustle beneath my fingertips, the soft sound seemingly a thousand miles away. Pale winter light sifts through an even paler drape, which, like a long-forgotten child, twists and turns, dancing in the winter wind. A bird lands on the windowsill; I can see its silhouette, yet it stays outside, away from the warmth spreading its fingers out the open window, beckoning, welcoming. The bird knows as well as I that the warmth is only an empty promise, and flies away upon sensing my eyes resting lightly on its shadow in longing. And so the bird takes flight, as another stays in its cage, waiting still.