Dark Mysteries in Music
Beckoning the soul.
Bright eyes fade.
A desperate cry.
With nothing but the dark music.
A single blade of grass trembles.
Can grass get scared?
What happens to make it quake so?
Why might it do that?
Could it be that gust of wind that blew across the meadow?
Or could it be something deeper, something I can not see?
Maybe it is a ladybug scuffling through the tall, leafy trees,
Or maybe it’s an ant trying to navigate the jungle on its trek home to family.
Maybe it is a spider, weaving a small nest to raise the young that rests on its back.
Tell me, grass, why it is you quake, shiver, shake, and tremble so?
What secrets do you hide in this big, leafy meadow?
All alone in the dark.
A tiny sound erupting the silence.
No one stops to notice.
Feelings that can’t be possible.
Roaring music fills the air.
Light fills the room of the mind.
Slowly people take notice.
Feelings so strong and true.
Guitar shines in the darkness.
Like mermaid’s tears slipping over seafoam,
The drowning, surrounding slickness.
Like the leafy jungle beside the ocean,
And the sound between.
Like an icy, arctic tundra slowly melting away,
Chilling the world and senses.
Like a hot day in the calm blue ocean,
Pulling my skin and bones.
Like a soft orchestral melody,
Slipping through ears and sparking imagination.
Like the color on a brave pilot’s uniform,
That dives through the sky.
But not entirely.
Just one color can slip, pull, chill, and dive through one’s imagination.
Because we dare to think.
I ran fast. Faster than I ever thought I could. Adrenalin pumped through my body. My legs burned with pure agony. I knew I had to outrun them. I shook my head, my brain told me there was no alternative, I had to keep going, but my body protested, hard. My head pounded against my skull and my legs burned in agony.
What is the worst that could happen if I gave up, if I gave in? Maybe nothing. But that would be giving into the chase. It couldn’t end now, not when I am so close.
Blood rushed into my throat, I cough, slowing momentarily. I feel their hot breath on my heels, the steamy drool dripped down my legs. The Shadow Dogs were on my tail. One stop, one skid, one falter and I am literally dead meat. Pray to the ravenous beasts behind me.
I feel a sudden burst of hope, of imagination, a possible future. I heard the harsh panting growing softer in the background as I sprinted farther away. The dogs were slowing and I was speeding — flying. But no, Shadow Dogs are built for the chase, for the prowl. They were made to outrun their prey. They were the top of the food chain, as far as predators go. These dogs don’t get tired, they don’t slow. I risk a glance behind me, preparing myself for what I may see. The dogs were slumped against the pavement, heaving, whimpering, and whining, ever so softly. They were scared. But of what? What could scare the top of the food chain? What could cause them to stop?
A small sound, a ‘cluck’, a ‘tsk’ came from behind me. That was when I realized that nothing but man itself could scare a Shadow Dog, nothing but its master.
We Live in a Bubble
We live in a bubble.
It is the place we call home.
The bubble is beautiful.
A place so perfect couldn’t be real.
But it is.
A community thrives.
No one goes hungry.
No one is in danger.
The bubble keeps us safe.
We are lucky.
People get along.
No one cares about suffering.
There is no suffering to care about.
Crying is so foreign.
A distant thought.
They don’t stop to imagine a life of poverty.
It is a mere bedtime story.
Step outside the bubble.
No longer is it safe.
So many people call this their home.
So much fear.
Roads remain unpaved.
Flowers line the roads in honor of those lost.
A woman cries on the side of the street.
Her children are gone.
There is no bubble to keep them safe.
There are fights.
People are hungry.
But they laugh.
They have experienced poverty.
They have experienced life.
They know what it is like to be lucky.
They know that they are fortunate.
They find the best.
Families sit down.
Maybe a bubble life isn’t a life at all.
Maybe you haven’t lived until you have lived through pain.
I live in a bubble.
I have not lived.
Like they have nothing to lose.
Blowing in the ever- so- soft wind.
Like they need to move on.
Moving too fast to remember.
Rushing past me.
Like they have nothing to lose.