Personification of a Dream: part 1Written by K.S. Fellow
The bus caught itís breath with a riveting bubbling humming as it made itís second stop along cold gray streets, sleek with cold sweep of winterís waning cold as spring struggled to break free. Days of thin air, dry hair, and drab memories, a time of changing, a most uncomfortable paradox of redundance no matter what excitement you may try to stir into ones day. Like any lazy body that day on bus, I sat in a mediocre seat, dingy blue, and hid my lean hands in side my sweat shirt as I waited dazed. More bodies traipsed into bus, bumping and pardoning and searching for seats, was a prick to my nerves, since I truly wished we could get going, yet instead for a while that seemed ages, we were idol. Plinking in coins, showing a bus pass...seats....awkward stares. Yes come on hurry, how hard is it to board a bus? Billowing exhaust formed around bus, windows partly veiled by steamy clouds that dipped and looped. For a moment I forgot my urgent heart, and I simply was enthralled by pail creamy billows. A man appeared through white draping of exhaust, his body still vialed but his face astonished me, so untarnished by worldly strains, nor buffeted by homely demure, nor was it ridged or rugged....unlike any face I could compare it to. Odd that a face could of drawn such a rise in me, yet, normally a personís face takes no notice from anyone unless it has no equal or double, or a like, or similar...this face was not to be even compared to any model, or movie star, singer, or guineas. It was simply...not of this time as it would appear, so smooth from winds of a place she could never hope to go, eyes that had thoughts born in them she so earnestly wished to see, for they were thoughts of spooling beautiful great bounds and wonder, that, she was for certain. His brow innocent in his age yet a chin nimble that up held a majestic face that crooned itís wisdom it a infinite tail of gallantries so noble by his hand. ďOW!Ē With a hard pain I opened my jaded eyes, mouth stiff from sleep and full of saliva. With lifting of my head I looked out passing by of color drain homes, fire hydrants, pickets, and empty parked cars. Everything was so enveloped by winterís thick blanket that I felt a loss of joy, one less beat in my heart as I breathed deeply for days of summer. In meek voice I had, I spoke to reassure my tired voice was still stung to tune, ďWhat a restful dream.Ē I wondered about how odd it was, how real it had seemed, how wonderful man was I had seen in shroud of exhaust. With out any procrastination I came to my stop and lifted my swollen from sleep body out of seat that had held me so well for so long. ...
Raven BreathWritten by K.S. Fellow
By moon light, were did raven weep, were did itís blood stained feathers fall. trail to dark haven, were no man has time to smile. It will indeed take a while for any breath to not frost, for any heart to beat warmly. Slowly reality weaves, like spiderís dewy doilies that drift and flow with heavy night air. Kindled in low winter lighting, so that no color is seen, reaching long curling figures of dark watery faces that live through pale care of winds' whip...that brings drips of starry tears, and shad of doubt cultivates many spiraling threads of fears. Reaping what is sewn is unveiling of a deceiverís chortled words and gnarled strands of figures that nudge like fat leaches on back side ones neck. Mirth is only last echo of choked call, if your hands are stained with ravenís dripping liquid of breath.