MELITA
Another day passed, another sunrise loomed. She could watch the bright, blinding star ascend every day: life renewed, begun again, power and potential carving, cultivating, its way to strength, one more chance to prove herself, one more opportunity to lay waste to quandaries and ineffectiveness. The colors swarmed before her gilded eyes and she was aglow in its song and dance, onyx and sable giving over to plum and violet, like the flowers her sister favored, soon occupying the sky in a sea of marbled crimson and orange – like fire, like flames, like embers, and coals, how she would soar again, like a dragon, like a beast, like a timeless heathen, crashing into the sky and heavens until they let her in. Her hands went to scratch Fangorn as they knelt and presided along their chosen blanket, bathed in light, and then her eyes closed, imagining a world of cliffs and sand at the bottom of her feet, sinking and simmering along her toes; sun-kissed and graceful, passionate and fervent. The world would change once more, and she’d adapt with it – beauty and dominion, wild and untamed, beneficence and belligerence at war in her soul. But not now, not amidst the tangled wonder; allowing herself to breathe in its serenity, in its tranquility, for another evening gone, another swell of morning just beginning.This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
