All The Broken Sunrises _ by me #5 (of a series)


  • Henlo Gang SEEKERS Freedom Writers

    Part One

    Chapter :

    Four

    From midnight till daybreak
    I slept by the flames of the place.
    From first till last
    the doctor watched me
    still as the deadman’s pulse.

    At dawn
    I was roused by the scent of herbs.
    Into the hearth the doctor threw leaves
    for a purpose I could only question.

    “Woe begat woe.” he said,
    perceiving my consciousness.

    -Has the plant any
    singular properties?

    -None but the scent of mockery.

    -It is as I presumed.
    Why must you mock?

    -Because I have the will.
    Have you that to stop me?

    -No.

    -How will you calm thus?

    -By plead.

    -Is that thy best offer?

    -It is my only one.

    -That is pity,
    and none more self-set irritates me.
    Folly, I say.
    Have the decency to try.

    -I am dying, let me rest.

    -That I cannot.

    He threw in larger doses of herb
    and the smoke stung my lungs.

    “Do you not let mercy take lead?”
    I sounded, desperate.

    -I master the carriage.

    -But the horse stands afoot.

    -The whip is at hand.

    -The rope has come loose.

    -The blade hasn’t.

    -The storm, shall it settle?

    This stopped his work.
    His eyes glittered in the hearth
    as he smiled with voice.

    “When do you read Maelstrom*?”

    -You recognize the words?

    -I do. ‘the storm, shall it settle?’
    Please. When thence?

    -The Bowl?
    When I hadn’t known yet, years before.
    I’d had the incentive.
    I hadn’t the nail in bark.

    -Has your memory retained part?

    -It has.

    -Do tell.

    -Well…

    I felt less than driven to speak.
    The Maelstrom verses were all
    broken.

    But The Bowl I knew as more than a variant.
    It was my story.

    He straightened in his chair
    and I awaited the smoke to dissipate.
    It did.

    “The Bowl,” I began.

    “I could bring the waters
    And put them in a bowl.
    I’d drop rain for starters, but
    The bowl has broken.

    “I could stir these waters,
    Stir it all with a spoon.
    But withnot a bowl to use
    The ocean is still.

    “I sighed and the sky said,
    ‘Whatever will you do?
    This is quite the conundrum.
    Shall the storm settle?’

    “I thought the storm might not;
    Its light is drenched in dark,
    Thunder rages with light, and
    I have not a bowl.

    “I found a cup in mud;
    I cleaned it in the sea.
    But my spoon could not fit, and
    I threw it away.

    “In sand I saw a jar
    Which was just like my bowl.
    But a hermit lived there, and
    It said, ‘Leave me be.’

    “I was still searching when
    A man came up to me.
    ‘Why d’you need a bowl,’ he asked,
    ‘when you’ve got the sea?’

    “’A sea is not a bowl,
    My bowl is far deeper.
    This old spoon could fit inside,
    And it shook the world.'”

    Satisfied, he leaned back,
    as he’d bent forward to listen.

    “What does it signify to you?

    -It is the quake

    -that?

    -shook my world.
    Brought down lives and sprung anew.
    The tremors are of pen, the left of paper.
    These are my lines.

    The grandfather clock struck two
    and the companioned DONG!
    reverberated throughout the environs.

    “The new day has come.”
    he announced.

    -The past child needs rest.

    -If you must then sleep.
    I will keep watch.

    -Will you?

    -I think the storm shall.


  • Henlo Gang SPARTAN Music Lovers Soul Searchers

    @AlbeitDying Oncore oncore vro always glad to read your stuff bruh always very good








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