Disaggregated Angels

iUniverse, Inc.

Chapter One

Spellbound in the vast empty, well onto smooth, shifting clouds of the greyest shades, shall I all alone travel needlessly. Upon the weakest of cheerless walks, I will be fitted into a brewed stupor, then ponder and speculate at other dirty-done-deeds already made clear?

Relentless in a quest for glory, I fall upon dimmer shores, clear of the jagged rocks that below and on many occasions carved raw flesh to the bone! In whispers I am forth fortified inside the wall built high and in due terms stay well clear of the reality set forth, for the most particular part grander than that weak-minded, raison d'être, onward bestow at last the will not to be.

With two voices from opposite choirs, I long for ever longer; at the most lost to the chant that for all are beyond meagre revelations of the love for life lost long ago!

Long-lived upon trails of somewhat emergent victory, in the long run I am forgotten inside the deeper shades of black, and will I for the time being require in the need to acquire, well beyond the way forth; so that once and for all virtues be clear to which was near a young, rustic dusk, soon enough lucid; where onto the wakes of many bright morrows should I grow on and beyond?

Narrow are some of the mystified roads that for kilometres beyond are salted with gut-wrenching tears, and within a wink of irony lay on the edge of graceful smiles, then and on send out whispers to those of which are wilfully abundant, henceforth find them in a handful of doubt.

Sacrilege was the word related when at last at the prick of aguish hit with all efforts; soon after it finaly snared the most unfortunate torments achieved deep within, and then rather without, though in deepest of thoughts, no doubt?

There in the midst of nothing gained; for that matter I am blind as a flesh consuming maggot; never but once revealed anything, and for the moment caught-up in a struggle of blameful displays.

In true form of hypocrisy, and again needless to the care of others, I am awarded but the renaissance needed; that of which was never forth to the pin-point of the pen that inscribed on parched paper ... and so on, perhaps yet to come?

In the dim morning rose to quivers of weak mind and bones and again failed to see the path set forth, for the pain blinds me with needless caressed my mind with pins of puncture, as if on the edge where the all who are fortunate to know its meaning, and on and on, carried!

Nay, I say ... and with a sharp spin down the roads ahead, I travel where once was before? At that summit let the dim, bright-light show what is therefore dear to me; and beyond the height of mounds of the deeper lies find the truth which to all is but elusive, and at most of times never ever gained.

Hunger gripped deep into my being, where even deeper doubts lay about; at the most longed for long ago, and never but once reach my well of life, where deep are the deepest waters of sorrow—no more but most often poisoned by self-hands in trivial gestures!

Within a swift waft, I am drug down into the deeper parts of the murk acquired to bygones; this at the least entailed the most of sad folk's unfortunates to fall prey to the Great One? And may the well-guarded Judge be he and the one who knows the when's and the how's of a simple man, and on give him free-way of clear mind?

In the dew of moist nights arch my back when at last spread wings of sad destiny, but never in my wonders' of wonders' do take flight! For crushing chains of gravity keep me well in ways of wounded pity, which in all hefty mass aches with piercing pain that reaches my soul full of clutter.

In deeper, darker days bursting with blunder ... I so-on cry for penance to grief, and with gist but a splash to the flow deliver the lastly blows of might; in turn blusterous to the wakes that aroused me from frightful dreams, and on ignite the furious fire that should shock me awake from this dreadful nightmare!

When in the end of no wonder, well on the road ahead, it is much harder to kneel at the foot of life's tyrannies; to which without any doubt will befall to all that is before me, and alas to the wake of the last morrow, be one of the free?

* * *

Disaggregated Angels

Upon white shores, shaded spumes ignites on, and a last young angels disaggregated! All too seemingly troubled or angered, some took to the winds when within motions carved deep curves in the line drawn-out, and so on deployed motives wrapped in soft down that with light friction bolstered a yelp contained by fragile shafts of white equal to loud, beached thunder.

To all willing this was the way of the flight, when with the will twenty geared up for green pastures. Where onto the bleached fields struck the lastly blows of fright; delighted to the eyes of all in needless surprise! And then, they, schemed off to higher hills ready to take grasp of a sharp breeze, and on reach heights within an exodus!

Clinched within a tighter grip, most set for departures; those of which were lost inside tormented quarrels, where then the victors to the last of all accounts it seemed the same, when with no doubt each had lost the bet at the foot!

Pure and virtuous their determinations were; which way beyond reality seemed to have gently withered upon graphite of grey, somewhat washed-out upon worn-down, rumpus, beached coasts.

Recited were tale of muttered fear, those in all events that traveled upon rustic granules of sands; where short were the walks of despair? This, a token-toll to the blind full of willingness to rectify that done wrong ... as so common done!

Thunder clobbered heavy when it struck one with three to the ground? All gazed aguishly-sly, and in total wonder searched for the culprits guilty of the blow without, and then soon realized that it came from deep within; not far from the edge of certain doom. How fortunate that it was not from afar, where perhaps unreachable, and the way lost forever and ever?

In a stupor full of gazes, all might be fit to worry on the thought of being perturbed, knowing quite well that all the arrogance would be to the demise of the mobs fronting rights of might, as if they all knew the quest desired, and then the way ahead ... really ... wow?

Was this written on the warned-out walls, years ago? The text engraved with silver coins thrown about at the foot as if dolls to be played with? For a weaker moment as the fool-hearted man, one quicker than the others at the farce of life, rightly took the bait? As if dead, raw fish already on the round plate, ready! He, prepared to be served, that along the others who had given up long ago? Across the deepest parts of the River Styx, all were ferried within their own!

The One at that very moment in time bewildered the troop onto the venture to the deep need of things not needed? Then on upon a dare or request, ventured for the search for true hypocrisy; as if the right given at birth ... and so forth in a fool's mind, again, the rival hands' shifted over loud gestures, and then forfeited the need to be; where the mighty judge would show the way forth. He would do this of course, healthy in his own brand of diplomacy ... then you will see?

One blinked an eye as the others conveyed true distress to the unknowing gifted with delay! Thereon, upon the wall, the query-One trembled callously when backed into a corner, most likely...