Prose

It was dark. The Sky was grey. It was so beautiful.

The moon, silver and touching, hung like a smile in the night sky. The waves below beat against the cliffs. Such a thing, such a sight; like a cold breeze chilling me to my soul. I raise my gaze to the stars above leaving this world; I close my eyes devoid of life and being. My mind searches the depths of my own disarray, for an answer I know deep inside. It was inside me all along, fighting for a chance to escape.

I opened my eyes the waves still beat against the cliffs; I pulled myself up and watched as the night crept on.  I turned and walked away from the sea, leaving my footsteps in the grass. My head, my mind, still clouded, still in pieces. All transparent senses of self and being, I begin my journey.

“The world is not ready.” Utterances of a spirit. I turned to face the essence next to me; she looked back towards the ever distant horizon.

 “We are not ready.” The reply came fourth out of my mind. I turned once again and left the presence alone. My shadows follow silently beside me. To be defeat to be lost to be afraid, In turn, I left the stage for those to stumble and fall beyond me.

I was on my way.