Restless soul be recumbent, just repose for awhile with your ear placed against the earth. You’ve now discovered an enchanting tranquility, becoming aware of your younger sister sleep talking, she’s breathing fearfully.“Your hair is long, but it’s even now not long enough to reach home to me. Your beard however, some day could be.”
She awakes in a bitter sweat upon the floor adjacent an oak picture frame, within an amateur family portrait has been placed; and beside the frame, a tumbler filled to the brim with futile two cent coins. Extending her reach, she nudges the glassware aside.
Her father cruises towards the familiar transcendent mountain-side, back to the resilient home he constructed bare-handed. He sits upon the porch, with papers in hand and a solitary ring. Aesthetically brilliant, it possesses nothing more than ugly, terrible memories.
“Just sit on your porch, and pluck your strings” he murmurs, saturating his lips in an accustomed burning sensation. Dull, lifeless eyes follow the running creek beneath his elevated perch. It disappears into a disturbed, churning ocean where yet another dismayed soul will soon achieve peace.
“You’ll fly once more over your life before you meet your maker.” Chronic and tender his love had always been, before her blood became plagued with an unforeseen fate. “Since she’s passed away, you’ve waited for forever and a day just to die. Now someday soon, you will die.”
We’re crumbling. Becoming fragmented and weak, decelerated and apathetic. It’s a learning process, but even the ikhōr is by the narrowest of margins circulating without hindrance.