Underground_Network
July 29th, 2009, 04:36 PM
A crippled shadow in the midnight moonlight
Gently gallops across the gray-green grass.
No eyes, no mouth, no ears,
But a nose.
The crippled shadow looks,
But does not see
The cold, hard boulder
Lying right in front of him.
He can smell the damp air,
The moisture rising off the rock,
He can tell that it's rough,
It's large and dangerous,
But he can't detect it's exact location.
He is a crippled shadow,
A wounded warrior in a war never won
Or lost, or even fought,
But he is still a crippled shadow,
And he is still galloping gently across the gray-green grass,
The battlefield that never was,
Trying not to trip over the rough boulder
Or any of it's companions,
That lie in no specific pattern
Scattered across the gray-green grass.
A crippled shadow, with nowhere to go,
But nowhere to stay,
A remnant of a past that doesn't matter,
A particle of something less than dust,
The crippled shadow maneuvers magnificently through the moonlight,
But he is not seen,
Or heard,
Or felt;
He is smelled.
His aura draws itself into the nasal cavity,
Deposits it's black glow and it's dark beginnings
In a comfortable area just inside the nose,
And it grows, and it grows, and it grows.
Expanding it's vast knowledge of nothingness
To the world and beyond,
The world that never was,
The beyond that isn't quite
Beyond the midnight moonlight.
Gently gallops across the gray-green grass.
No eyes, no mouth, no ears,
But a nose.
The crippled shadow looks,
But does not see
The cold, hard boulder
Lying right in front of him.
He can smell the damp air,
The moisture rising off the rock,
He can tell that it's rough,
It's large and dangerous,
But he can't detect it's exact location.
He is a crippled shadow,
A wounded warrior in a war never won
Or lost, or even fought,
But he is still a crippled shadow,
And he is still galloping gently across the gray-green grass,
The battlefield that never was,
Trying not to trip over the rough boulder
Or any of it's companions,
That lie in no specific pattern
Scattered across the gray-green grass.
A crippled shadow, with nowhere to go,
But nowhere to stay,
A remnant of a past that doesn't matter,
A particle of something less than dust,
The crippled shadow maneuvers magnificently through the moonlight,
But he is not seen,
Or heard,
Or felt;
He is smelled.
His aura draws itself into the nasal cavity,
Deposits it's black glow and it's dark beginnings
In a comfortable area just inside the nose,
And it grows, and it grows, and it grows.
Expanding it's vast knowledge of nothingness
To the world and beyond,
The world that never was,
The beyond that isn't quite
Beyond the midnight moonlight.