The Storm
The Storm
He calmly steered the stern toward cruel storm, broken wind, flashing waves, as the mighty vessel galloped like a prize pony through dark night. His forearms steady as the wood was sturdy, as one thing remained on the sailor’s mind. This all-consuming, no-knowing thought process proved virtuous as the eye of the storm glanced back at the sailor, for it had passed leaving the boat flowing on the waves instead of sinking beneath the frigid waters, which is where the sailor’s mindset lurked. He had been at sea for seven years, and had seen storms as severe as this latest one, but his heart barely started on account of unfriendly skies, terrible forces from below, but only initiated frantic beating when thinking of his love, whisked away from his unguarded arms all those years ago. He was on the scent like a bloodhound and wouldn’t let pesky storm stand in his way or contaminate the trail. Through the seven seas he traveled, each as barren as the last. One thing remained the same: the cry of his love to the wind. Oh, how he would follow that beyond the gates of hell. They’d make their own heaven amidst the flames and conquer fallen ones, bring above crashing to below and create sweet harmony amongst chaotic forces.
When he was a pup he met her. The golden-hazed romance belonged to a time far different than the disease-ravaged ship of his. Gout, dysentery and the worst the Gods had to muster in warrior’s way to create obstacles unseen but ever felt. How he’d held her in safe arms, how he’d wiped away tender tears (or was it her wiping his?), how they learned of each other’s bodies in the dark and brought pleasure to light. When a random and terrible world was brought to its knees in the face of young love…
But this world struck back in a fashion he hadn’t known. He’d seen the forces of nihilism, he’d seen hate, but not like this. Torn from him, raped through him, shamed at him and spirited away from him. The tears of fury turned to icicles of hate as he began his search, as he began his revenge! Always a man to project his will, his desire, into an uncaring frontier; now he’d change the current, now he’d change the tide, now he’d change the spin of the earth, the pull of a compass in his never-ending quest to plant a stake into betrayed soil and leave nevermore, bring her to him or face the consequences. The tears then turned to flame…
He felt the cry of his love all over him, all through him and it pulled him, it carried him toward her. Damn the Ocean and damn his pain, her pain. The ship closed in on his goal, after all these years. The ship gained ground on a canoe tethered to a dock, the entrance to a hut, the entrance to his love. He pulled his vessel forth and dropped anchor, while clutching anger. His first step on land was a tentative one, but one full of purpose, mindless purpose but steadfast in implication. The dock swung as right foot passed left and so on. The hut stood on a frozen hill, a barren land, the Sun since banished (if only for a day) and the moon swallowed whole by callous clouds forming overhead.
As he reached inside trying to find anything that the seas hadn’t mercilessly stripped away from his very soul, his sanity, he tried to find an anchor in an unattached land. Hand touched varnished wood, the door, and pushed it open. Light met him, after seven years, light took him in, light attracted him like a light, like a beacon, signaling boats from afar and bringing in from the darkness. A love, his love, waiting, for she was the source of this bright, fluid energy that he had clung to in dark tunnels. His tears of fire extinguished and all was forgiven. All was new again. Revenge was his, as he looked deep into his raison, deep into his reason, deep into what had escaped him, deep into those eyes and he saw what he’d been running for, what he’d been sailing for, dying for. The reflection, those eyes, these mirrors, and memories, long forgotten, sprang back to that night, as the enemy was staring back at him from her muddy brown pools, who he’d been chasing to avenge, who had kept him hungry, the cruelty of the world was as bright as the light emanating from her warm body. Only to be eclipsed by the sight into her reflection, he, the moon, bringing darkness to her Sun. Lips trembled, hands tremored, as the storm continued unabated overhead. His heart finally felt fear…
He calmly steered the stern toward cruel storm, broken wind, flashing waves, as the mighty vessel galloped like a prize pony through dark night. His forearms steady as the wood was sturdy, as one thing remained on the sailor’s mind. This all-consuming, no-knowing thought process proved virtuous as the eye of the storm glanced back at the sailor, for it had passed leaving the boat flowing on the waves instead of sinking beneath the frigid waters, which is where the sailor’s mindset lurked. He had been at sea for seven years, and had seen storms as severe as this latest one, but his heart barely started on account of unfriendly skies, terrible forces from below, but only initiated frantic beating when thinking of his love, whisked away from his unguarded arms all those years ago. He was on the scent like a bloodhound and wouldn’t let pesky storm stand in his way or contaminate the trail. Through the seven seas he traveled, each as barren as the last. One thing remained the same: the cry of his love to the wind. Oh, how he would follow that beyond the gates of hell. They’d make their own heaven amidst the flames and conquer fallen ones, bring above crashing to below and create sweet harmony amongst chaotic forces.
When he was a pup he met her. The golden-hazed romance belonged to a time far different than the disease-ravaged ship of his. Gout, dysentery and the worst the Gods had to muster in warrior’s way to create obstacles unseen but ever felt. How he’d held her in safe arms, how he’d wiped away tender tears (or was it her wiping his?), how they learned of each other’s bodies in the dark and brought pleasure to light. When a random and terrible world was brought to its knees in the face of young love…
But this world struck back in a fashion he hadn’t known. He’d seen the forces of nihilism, he’d seen hate, but not like this. Torn from him, raped through him, shamed at him and spirited away from him. The tears of fury turned to icicles of hate as he began his search, as he began his revenge! Always a man to project his will, his desire, into an uncaring frontier; now he’d change the current, now he’d change the tide, now he’d change the spin of the earth, the pull of a compass in his never-ending quest to plant a stake into betrayed soil and leave nevermore, bring her to him or face the consequences. The tears then turned to flame…
He felt the cry of his love all over him, all through him and it pulled him, it carried him toward her. Damn the Ocean and damn his pain, her pain. The ship closed in on his goal, after all these years. The ship gained ground on a canoe tethered to a dock, the entrance to a hut, the entrance to his love. He pulled his vessel forth and dropped anchor, while clutching anger. His first step on land was a tentative one, but one full of purpose, mindless purpose but steadfast in implication. The dock swung as right foot passed left and so on. The hut stood on a frozen hill, a barren land, the Sun since banished (if only for a day) and the moon swallowed whole by callous clouds forming overhead.
As he reached inside trying to find anything that the seas hadn’t mercilessly stripped away from his very soul, his sanity, he tried to find an anchor in an unattached land. Hand touched varnished wood, the door, and pushed it open. Light met him, after seven years, light took him in, light attracted him like a light, like a beacon, signaling boats from afar and bringing in from the darkness. A love, his love, waiting, for she was the source of this bright, fluid energy that he had clung to in dark tunnels. His tears of fire extinguished and all was forgiven. All was new again. Revenge was his, as he looked deep into his raison, deep into his reason, deep into what had escaped him, deep into those eyes and he saw what he’d been running for, what he’d been sailing for, dying for. The reflection, those eyes, these mirrors, and memories, long forgotten, sprang back to that night, as the enemy was staring back at him from her muddy brown pools, who he’d been chasing to avenge, who had kept him hungry, the cruelty of the world was as bright as the light emanating from her warm body. Only to be eclipsed by the sight into her reflection, he, the moon, bringing darkness to her Sun. Lips trembled, hands tremored, as the storm continued unabated overhead. His heart finally felt fear…
posted by neilly bojangles at 1:39 PM
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