From above the Floodgates will open, pouring forth both life and death; the Waters will cast a dim reflection of this place and his soul will forever feel the torment of what was and could have been.


He, in sorrow: Life is but a failing dream, from the currents of existence rain joy and misery alike.  Where did I go wrong? 

            A mirror shattered and with it went the Whispers of my dreams.  

The Rain: Only you breathed life into that vision, this translucent reflection of past desires, but what is time but a measure by which we illustrate life?

            You live upon the utmost depression: the Illusion.

He, in sorrow: I was so afraid, so selfish; the eyes, they were my own—my opposite, my completion, and now sadly, my deconstruction.

            My vespers freeze on the wind to be carried to the distant-most ears trained not to hear.

                                                ETERNITY! I am gone; a ghost—the Waters have carried my soul to rest.

The Rain: With my clouds I have hidden you from the eyes of God, with my thunder I’ve drowned your words.  With my lighting I have blinded the eyes of all who might see your face, with my waters I have rendered invisible your tears.

The Wind: All must end; everything that begins returns to dust and is carried as ashes on the wind.

He, in sorrow: This must end, my dream has gone, all it leaves are memories that lacerate and scar.

            This must end; my life must end.

The Breath in the Fog: From your sorrow I must turn my face.

The Whisper of a Dream: I once saw a reflection in the Waters; a man of immense wisdom, but shaken by fear.  From that sight I fled and with it went his desire.

He, in sorrow: Why must I have vision so tormented with hate and anger?  Why must my heart be filled with lust and bitterness?  I am at a loss for understanding; I have done a great wrong to anger the Hand of God, I am surely damned for my sin.


Again he weeps; again the sky opens and his tears are washed down his haggard body; again the Hand of God reaches down to the Earth bearing witness to the blind torment of a single man and again he screams at the clouds and the darkness that within them tempts his heart.


He, in sorrow: Look into my eyes and tell me you see death; apathy is my only weapon against her words.  
         I cannot feel, I refuse.

The Breath in the Fog: I will push your memory away, an endles clouded sky of confusion and pain.

He, in sorrow: I need peace in solitude, but the waters taste so bitter; bitter like your smile.

        I remember your face before I died and how beautiful it was
            Your eyes like the sky after rain.
            Los ojos como el cielo después de lluvia

The Whisper of a Dream: She stirs...

He, in sorrow: I would give you the doorways to my soul if you would but answer...

                        THIS MUST END! MY DREAM MUST END!

The Breath in the Fog: Life is but a failing dream, reality obscured by a river of pain; this is where the Waters have taken you.  I mustn’t remove my veil.


The Whisper of a Dream: She stirs…

He, in sorrow: I remember your face before I died and how beautiful it was;

            Your eyes like the sky after rain; your tears took nothing from your radiance.

The Breath in the Fog: I cannot…

He, in sorrow: Look at me and tell me I’m not gone…

frederic   frederic wrote
on 4/22/2009 3:23:01 PM
Nature is reflecting your hopelessness. You do not see any room for improvement. Nothing is going to come along and cheer you up. So far. Is that where you're going with it or is ther light at the end of the tunnel?

Angeleyez   Angeleyez wrote
on 7/8/2008 7:24:27 PM
Just curious what does "Los ojos como el cielo después de lluvia" mean? dont have to say if you dont want to just wonderin :)

Warriorprincess55   Warriorprincess55 wrote
on 5/3/2008 6:54:45 PM
I say this in the only way it can be said..."You are deep!" And I mean this is a very positive way! I like the way your mind works and the way you lay it down. Excellent read.

1 act
writing AshesofLilith
And God created the dust and from dust he begot man; we are but ashes and dust scattered by the wind across a vast nothingness we ourselves have created.
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This is a work in progress... I don't think I am quite done with it yet, but I hope someone gets something out if it. I started writing it in a depressive state, I believe that if I decided to finish it, it will end on somewhat of a intellectual level.