Days passed. I wondered. Thinking about the surface of red, and entity within it. When I’m tired and my vision blurs, I almost felt like I could see what the thing in red was. The harder I try to remember a rift appears. I want to say it has a face, but all I see is black. I have to try again.
I sit on the floor. I close my eyes and wait. There it is. The red surface. This time everything is red. I stand on something resembling cobblestone, but it also could be something less strange. Something between doubt and pleasure, where man can never be free. There is landscape this time. It’s not much, it’s red. I can’ discern if surface is close to me, is it static? Or is it something like I never seen before. I won’t falter. I rise my hand and surface reaches out to me. This time everything proceeds smoothly. Red engulfs me, swallows me.
I’m in it. It’s so serene. Unlike my previous state, I feel no anger, no wrath. Emotions that bind me, bind me more than shame is unlawful on dead, I don’t feel them. I feel completely alone. It’s not tense like last time. Entity isn’t there. It’s missing. I walk, but I’m warped. I collapse, depress, bloat, rise in and out of shapes, as dust swirls to become star, crystallize and disperse to become ray of light. Again, I’m competent in my form. I have no form, yet I’m not reduced to bare thought. I’m getting tired. I want to know what is it that I seek? This is the question for which rarely, there is an answer. As I start questioning myself, I feel presence of other. I turn around and see the entity.
It’s red, but it’s face is black. I can’t see its face. It stands against me, but don’t rebel. I want it to touch me. I want to know it. The distance is closing, but its barely walking. We are face to face. It touches my left wrist. The black takes over me with penchant of red. I scream. The grip tightens.
Again, I run away.
Mention: If you are interested, apply for custom poem, poem per order. One slot is filled for free poem, so there are 14 left. I want to make you feel beautiful. I’ll write for you. Enjoy the free poem.
The night arouses the senses
in its own light, man is unrevealed
in a deed hidden
Of what pursuit is the leaf, when its content
in dying, nature is of no life for its bound to
give birth forever, yet man suffers the most,
for he has to speak of his experience
Experience resembles lemon, a bare soul is
what’s sweetest in man, and yet man must rot
in order to live
Night is the autumn of soul, fated to walking,
steps on nature spine, cracking, releasing, voices
of song unheard devoted to whispering of being’s
many forms slammed to a loud stream which
only wishes to be heard
Leafs of night are of distinct fragrance,
for they are soaked in highest truth, that
which is sought to never be revealed
But man is bound by law stronger than any
nature, for to be complete man must become
And yet, unlike leafs of night, he is not content
in death fated for him, night enters its chest, to
absolve of him light, absolve him as children of plains
are absolved of any fear, for they meet the sky of
Come, take it, this body is but a shell of your release,
you are the sin of freedom, a root of soul, save me,
Michael of Moon
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