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Poets of The Fall 3: Lado Este, (This Side)
By
Shotgun011

Poets of The Fall 3: Lado Este, (This Side)

Miles away under these black skies a light can be seen burning through this darkness that fell at noon; darkness that fell as the lamp of laughter died when the lies of the Blind Organizer and Jealous Monk were seen through. And it's a darkness that eclipses both the sun and the moon leaving no reflections except that light in the distance burning like a torch.

And as I shoulder my pack to make my way down the line where it burns I give them both a final wave goodbye, with them both knowing a righteous anger hangs heavy and ripens on the vine as they dodge bullets of fire coming from the hills. As I begin to head off through the wreckage and remains of the bridges they blew and burned when Carnivale took place, and their circus parade made its way and has finally finished and is done.

Finding myself taking dancing lessons to be able to dodge people’s games as I see that jitterbug ride and weave around those obstacles placed in my way though I still at times occasionally taste the flavour of blame. Closing my eyes I can see those blue eyes that carry a million mile reflection like the sea as I try to keep from falling, and find myself breathing the name of my saviour in times of need or trouble and when true colours bleed through and all seems on fire.

With things and times changing yet the games, some play remain the same and being things that aren’t needed.

As I ask that the rain be completed and fed to wash all of the shadows that can be felt at times, and not walking away from those whom I have promised to stand there with and whom I carry with me as I make my way.

And leaving the levee behind with the wreckage of that last blown bridge as I navigate my way towards that beacon; though it might seem like I am drifting aimlessly but what they see is what I allow to be seen like an illusion or dream.

Wondering at times what I have become full of broken thoughts and at times not able to put things right.

Standing here in the open and forgetting their laughter as if I am standing on the gallows with my head in the noose, as I hear the old cadence count as I take each step towards that goal I know I must reach with no shortcuts taken. And having tried winning with a losing hand and not really moving in any particular direction except one with no turning back.

Or escape for this is an affair of the heart where the higher ground is taken inch by inch at times as I try to be her hero, and try to take away the pain and stand there with her forever and try and buy for her the rain and its crystal pools.

Though it seems as though I am wasted and a bloody mess as I make this trek knowing faith can move mountains, as I head North through this darkness heading towards that beacon that beckons me to head into the light it sheds. Breathing in the night and moving forward faster as if I am closing in for a kill trying to avoid failure and things not needed, and to be closer to believing and just a breath away through collision and confusion and not allowing the curtain to fall. Knowing a moment can change all things as I see the light in the distance drawing closer with each step taken.

Still there are troubles that can’t be named and caged tigers that must be dealt with, as confusion at times never stops as I wonder at times if I am the cure or just another part of the disease? Still nothing else can compare to these affairs of the heart and all the lessons learned and the reasons for all. As I find myself now putting on the dark glasses, I carry to counter some of the intensity of the light that glows brighter. Noticing that the book at the light’s base has opened and is allowing me to step inside as I see it outlined in the glare.

Able to see what’s beyond reality for a moment and hearing distant mission bells ringing in the distance. Being rung as if by an iron hand so they can be heard across the valleys and fields, as I pass into the book that’s opened there at the base of the light I have made my way from a carnival of rust to. And still I am trying to get all things right as I look to the skies for a sign that has the angels signal all is all-right. And committing my spirit to the test as I take your hand to cross fields of ice and burning sands as the book closes behind us and to possibly feel the winds of paradise blow.

Copyright July/August 2010 – 5: Timberwolf International LTD.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than storiesspace.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright Timberwolf International LTD. All rights reserved. Copyrighted and protected under the copyright laws of both The United States and of The United Kingdom. Under U. S. Code Title 17 § 204. No unauthorized duplication by any means including electronic, or copying may be allowed unless permission is asked for in writing and permission therefore granted by the author or copyright holder, or his/her agent. In writing and signed by the owner of the rights conveyed or such owner’s duly authorized agent. And duly witnessed by his or her representative or duly assigned agent. Under penalty of copyright infringement or intellectual property theft. All violators will be prosecuted.

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