Muse 126: butterflies

found via 365vignettes

I was walking on the beach when I saw a butterfly. Its brown wings were the colour of wet sand, the black lines, neat dark grooves drawn by my pinky. The butterfly was neatly pressed, like a dried flower in between pages of books, into the shaven rocks, unmoving. I felt sad, my heart getting heavier by the second. This butterfly, magically kept perfect underneath this shoe, caused the world to collapse around me. My tears would be for this single butterfly, a beautiful winged creature that represented a class of metaphors beyond simple description. Love was represented in this single insect.

Muse 96: Like Always

found via amanda mason

She carried jars of water from the places she had been. Places of water that mirrored her mind when she got there or at a moment when it seemed as if the waters and her mind coexisted as one. The water was like her brain-fluid, swishing about. Torrid waves and rushing hues of ocean blue. I remember each one, she said. Where they are from and what they are - I mean, what I was thinking about. She put the jars on her window sill. The colors are transparent and the tide is still.

Muse 76: Dusk/Dawn

found via baanbrekend

At that moment, all you could hear were the crickets. I felt the wetness of the cold stone wall start to seep slowly through my pants. The chirping was an orchestra of ticking clocks, as it died down, the sun began to rise. In the distance, the sky was slowly turning into a watercolor wash of orange, purple and blue. I forgot if the sun rose from the east or west, but I marveled at how the light is in the skies. The light always wins, and darkness loses like a wimp, letting go of its reign so freely. Then again, winning isn't forever and during the deep PM, the skies turn black. Sometimes though, I forget which time belongs to which and when I look up, I realize that it's dusk and the sun is setting. The light was dimming.

Muse 12: Synch

found via bethanyjoy41

The earth sings only one song. It is a sweet melody that only lonely seekers understand, only they can hear the tune that calls out for a harmonizing partner. And heartbreakingly, the ones that are lonely are the ones that fall in love: with those who cannot see the bleeding wounds, which bring no pain, only death, and the ending road, where the fall is tripped and jagged into such a deep abyss. Yet they continue. They love those who sway under their moonlight and call for a partner. They love those that dance the same dance, but, unfortunately, in a different room. They love those they think they can save.

Muse 4: Coffin Ash

"Did you know," he said as they drove past the miles and miles of land scattered with tall trees - although there were more acres of emptiness than tree, "that once upon a time they did not bury people in coffins and gravestones? Yeah, even us, the ones who probably honor this grave tradition more than anyone else. But even in King Arthur's time they did not bury people in their own graves - no, they buried them under trees, and the trees became a symbol of memory, of life. Then I guess somewhere along the way, generations decided that they were too self-important to be put back into the ground, too important to decompose like all things should, and started to clear up the trees for burial ground, started to fill dead bodies with chemicals and unnatural things so they would be physically immortal in death. Then thousands of year later, we sit and wonder why the earth is dying, but we never give thought that maybe she is a giver, not a provider. So where is the provider now, when she has no more to give?"