In the shade of the golden hour

A forest floor painted with the detritus of countless leaves, mottled and decaying, radiating the smell of opportunistic life.

An earthen aroma emanates-

something musty and damp, something striving to propagate.

Wet wood and stone, lingering death and perpetual ferment, synthesis into new life-

the ground delivers a dirge for children it has long since forgotten

as its current denizens echo the call.

They seek to be more than one among this field fathering the rank remains of many.

They seek independence and echo the song in partitions, their self contained struggles spilling into a shared system of strife and growth.

Molecules decay, half lives expiring, whittling away at the senses until only approximations of the past remain. Deep into their ranks through unseen roots and far above into the twilight canopy, titans siphon their remains and thrive, oblivious to the tumult of the ground below.

Decay and dissemination

Half lives and novae-

From many to one and from one to none.

In death and war, amidst chaos and fusion-

The sun sets again upon a land it knows not

as its children weep within the shade of another golden hour.

In the sky above, across galaxies and stars: past the trails of ancient starborn messages, each gasp traced to its source only to find novae burst millenia ago-

In their wake lies a field of swirling life, a primordial haze from which budding stars can emerge anew-

In their wake lies a fertile deathbed from which starving singularities can be born,

can sink deeper and deeper over a drowning expanse of time,

their wells inexorably drawing and drowing their brethren in their maw,

the pluming screams of fusion and

stress against growing cores of iron silenced as

they join themselves in oneness,

only to find their burdens accumulating more rapidly.

Camaraderie and fission

Casuistry and despair-

Galvanization and tears

Steadfastness and senselessness-

Ridicule and hope

Fear and love-

The broth churns and spills as twilight turns to darkness

In one eye, tears and the shaded visage of thoughts that have grown jaded from far too many promises ignored. In another more prospecting eye, opportunities spawn as earthborn, ambient divisions ooze, their fault lines begging for slippage, calling out to ones who can manifest their strife.

As the land shifts and chests tighten, the struggle enhances. The lovelorn and betrayed find their siblings in opposition, their aesthetics fodder for a galvanization that belies their shared passion.

Amidst this turmoil, the titans emerge. They claim the furor and fervor as their birthright and elevate the collective passion into mutiny and hatred. The chaos churns until the motion dies out and the cycle can be reborn anew from the ashes.

Entropy and ecstasy

Aggrandizement and ashes-

Pain and hope

Death and opportunity-

Within the eves that follow, the eternal rending echoes in a cascade,

Its replication the only constant within the whirling shade.

In a house’s remains, a child sits in pain. As they’ve cried out in frustration, their peers have looked at them coldly. For some of them, this moment has become a rite of passage for their kind- better to be soundly shattered and stitched together than burned beyond recognition. For others, this moment is a sign of weakness- a cruel reminder of past folly and pains better left forgotten. The memory of pain turns to ridicule as the wheel turns.

The child never cries again.

Woe and weariness

Numbness and momentary elation-

As the spoke creaks, its arc revolving,

the Earth spirals

the golden hour arising,

its shade ever enshrouding.

For the landlocked and lost, the land will continue to sing,

the collective dirge birthed from their deaf voices a testament to their reflected devotion.

In another cascade of light, they smile. In the warm evening glow, the canopy may be challenged as its edges are blurred, burning gently within the light. Within this filter, the Earth is cast through the tones of a humming hearth. The ephemeral love of another dawn is drawn into focus. For today, we'll forget the shade beneath the trees in hopes for the radiance above the canopy. For tomorrow, we'll consciously forget this exchange, its memory a cruel reminder of dangerous passions.

In the shade of today's golden hour, we'll dream of moments beyond our reach. And in the depths of the night, we'll pray our hopes were unseen, that they not be used as weapons against our loves.