JesterIsWise

A flash, a burst of light drenched his sight in white...no sound, like all the world had been erased.  It subsided, and a smile creeped on to his face.  He watched the plane burn by overhead...an idea born of foolishness and fear.  The smile opens into a laugh, now he was amused.  That pilot will never know the chaos her "peace" created, only a sick feeling from that hole in her stomach that faintly warns that somethings off.  She thinks the immortal free, that with his temple crushed and the ghost scattered, he will simply move on and live life free from the past.  Free?  Free from what?  He chose to guard that temple, to listen to the tales

A plane flew by, prepped to release an ending.  The pilot staring down, watching the fields below--the temple still standing, somehow, after years of caustic storms...with another on the way.  This time it had to fall. For the good of everyone, it must be brought down.  A lone figure was lying on a bare hill, staring upward to the sky.  The guardian, standing watch, sentinel to the ghosts that roamed the fields around it.  The spirits, these ghosts, were his. Spawned from a lifetime his own trials and tribulations.  They too must fall.  Despite the anger, the bomb wasn’

 once known as immortal, he lay in deep and somber thought...staring up into the sky from the silent hills, wishing upon a falling star.  he saw it scream down-- crashing into the land below, barely missing a passing plane.  the plane let loose a fury, a misplaced pain of its own. no one can say which hit first; but he watched the flash, the explosion, the dark instance in time when all went silent.  that was the temple he once called home, the place he once found both faith and serenity.  He knew the ghosts who roamed those fields well, they were his own, spawned from years of sorrow and regret.  soon now, soon the daemons he buried there wo

night and day don’t seem to exist anymore, its all just time gone by, wasted on thoughts of the past.  it doesn’t matter what people say, the past always seems to dictate the future, a loner will always be that and nothing more.  who is truly alone though?  thoughts torment the mind, mocking a lifetime’s worth of patience and preservation...endlessly showing what should have been reaped...the fields that were sown are as barren as the dreams of meaning, all just empty plains where the ghosts of yesterday spin their tales of past glory long faded.  the tales always end the same; the tribulation, the triumph, the glimmer of hope.