Underground_Network
July 19th, 2009, 03:18 PM
A new scene emerges in the darkness:
A four year old girl belonging to the night sky,
Descends from nowhere into the middle of an evergreen park.
She stares ahead of her, her eyes shining a golden brown.
She smiles, then looks at the ground.
Green grass, not allowed to grow too high off the ground,
Nor cut too close to the ground,
It smells like nature and like the earth,
The home away from home, the heaven
That is also a hell.
Deep in one blade of grass, wilted and weeping,
The four year old girl sees the remnants of a blazing fire,
She sees a microscopic billow of smoke
And a near invisible lining of red, orange and yellow
Shaped together to form an upside down raindrop,
On the tip of that one one blade of grass, wilted and weeping.
She notices how the moon bleeds light
Unto the night sky, forever engraving
It's luminous trust in the infinity that is
The night and the day, and the time
That goes on, and sometimes,
But rarely, stops.
This little girl looks to her right,
Which, based on where she is standing in the park,
Would be the south, the point of no return
In the eyes of the aimless wanderer,
And she sees, well, nothing.
She is not blind, nor is she deaf,
As a doctor not from this earth
Will proclaim in six years,
She can hear with heart,
And see with her mind.
She can see what we will never see,
She can hear what we will never hear,
She can see beyond and above,
She can hear the earth rotating on its axis.
She can hear your last breath being taken away.
She isn't really there.
This isn't really happening.
But then again,
Maybe it is.
A four year old girl belonging to the night sky,
Descends from nowhere into the middle of an evergreen park.
She stares ahead of her, her eyes shining a golden brown.
She smiles, then looks at the ground.
Green grass, not allowed to grow too high off the ground,
Nor cut too close to the ground,
It smells like nature and like the earth,
The home away from home, the heaven
That is also a hell.
Deep in one blade of grass, wilted and weeping,
The four year old girl sees the remnants of a blazing fire,
She sees a microscopic billow of smoke
And a near invisible lining of red, orange and yellow
Shaped together to form an upside down raindrop,
On the tip of that one one blade of grass, wilted and weeping.
She notices how the moon bleeds light
Unto the night sky, forever engraving
It's luminous trust in the infinity that is
The night and the day, and the time
That goes on, and sometimes,
But rarely, stops.
This little girl looks to her right,
Which, based on where she is standing in the park,
Would be the south, the point of no return
In the eyes of the aimless wanderer,
And she sees, well, nothing.
She is not blind, nor is she deaf,
As a doctor not from this earth
Will proclaim in six years,
She can hear with heart,
And see with her mind.
She can see what we will never see,
She can hear what we will never hear,
She can see beyond and above,
She can hear the earth rotating on its axis.
She can hear your last breath being taken away.
She isn't really there.
This isn't really happening.
But then again,
Maybe it is.