Thursday, October 05, 2006
the blue velvet, the meringue myriad of dazzled colours.
how the sea of orange clashes among the eclectic beat of citrus variation.
the toy soldier, sturdy and tall,
slowly marching like clockwork, obedient to his owner.
left right left right,
every day, every night.
nearby, the angelic doll,
full of shekinah shining on her.
small beady eyes, a blonde and intricate fringe,
duly placed with much meticulious articulation.
the soldier moves slowly, surely in clockwork timing towards the shelf of the doll.
the angel turns her head away, knowing very well her feelings towards the toy soldier, yet her head has been turned away by her own owner.
tears fall down the soldier's cheek. His heart yearns for a woman whom he can call his own, respect, admiration, submission.
and the angel wants love.
the soldier, suddenly, breaking out of routine, puts down his gun.
He slowly releases the iron cast position of his left hand.
He speaks slowly (albeit his first time) : " i love you with an everlasting love, never have i felt such a wonderous feeling when i'm with you. your eyes have dazzled like the stars in the milky sky. crimson lips with a flawless complexion weaves a spell around my mind, neverending images of happiness as a union between two souls.. "
The Doll, with much grimace and emotion, however, feigns acknowledgement, her face still turns away.
The soldier then lets out a sigh, weeps and grieves over the death of this love and friendship and walks back into the darkness.
where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth, where the future is faced with apprehension rather than anticipation.
the toy soldier's gun gets chewed up by the darkness around him the toy soldier's lips turned a gothic black from a crimson red.
the doll just looks on, anticipating someone else who would declare such love towards her.
*
how much my emotions overwhelm me,
a junction of decisions,
the awkward tension of being in mock belief.
surely judgement faces me,
yet the carnality and the frailty of life and youth embraces the young and young at heart.
the feeling of rejection and silence surely dissapates,
much to the voice of authority,
yet we silently obey,
perhaps for the better good.
*
bah, i'm being too emotional and poetic at 0343am.
forgive me, but this is as poetic as i can get. ã :x all the boys stomp your feet like this x: 3:39 AM ã
