Unfold

lilith asked val, who art thou? with old language just because. something lingering, something reminding a memory refusing to go away.

a wind change, a curve ball, a hiccup and a split bowl of hot soup falling on a man's head coming from 100 stories up, cool to the touch after that long journey, i suppose some might

And thus retorted Lilith to the knight who plays the moral game of what is inside being more than the outside, see, hear, touch, feel, you live in your bubble of belief when most dogs do fall, where do you think the saying came from: dog eat dog world? it is the impoverished, the tormented, the harsh life

oh how quiet, how radiant each face shines as the fire talks back: the weary travelers of life sit by a stone, warmed by company when the lonely road threatens to tear at sanity trying to preserve and losing fast, each step towards the shadows being cast when footsteps are only heard, with no other sound

It is very quiet here, in the woods of green, red and yellow. There is no one around and it does seem that the flowing winds and rivers bring such pleasure to anyone able to feel that presence. A rustle, a footstep breaks the solitude of being and nothing, like a spell manifested as an intruder changes the landscape of hush, of solemn, of gravity. And he is the active player, the master and star, prima donna bearing the center stage with onlookers spellbound. Give him or her a name and it will be that, of love or lust? Or greed, maybe honor. Envy, maybe humility and that voice is carried in the wind, the river becomes life in the veins of a being and something for the house is no longer empty. It is enchanting, is it not? Whoever this dweller is, he makes up the music, the chords, the dance steps, the meaning. It is a cornerstone and yet it may not be because many dwellers can enter this solitude. How strange that rivers and winds carry their tales of emptiness and the audience never questions the tales.

sentient touches hollow, grates like metal cutting into glass and the noise is deafening when it is neither loud nor shrills like a banshee.

of vain glory and saw his own reflections displayed with smokes and mirrors, chasing cloud, shadow for the surface level was easily seen, the skin intact while the heart and mind had taken various forms and it is buried deep down, like heaven and hell metaphysical planes untouched, words become cheap

a contrast, from what he has know of deception and lies and yet he has won the battle each time!

Val feels the little seeds and they burrow into his heart. A woman of pleasure, he muses then forgets

surely, the end of god is now and here for while i bear great tidings, his servants have fallen into the pits, grovel they will, for i am surely at my most high and i make the rules even as they acquiesce … what choice really?