“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” -Oscar Wilde-
Contentment
I stand in a meadow. I know this meadow. Gray blades of grass, without distinction of color or purpose cover this place. They just stand, woven to the land. As winds blows gently across them, they move with her. Yet, still afraid to leave the world they have sewn themselves into. As they move, they blush the slightest hint of green, embarrassed by how easily swayed they were.
Following my friends, I dare not move from this field. For encircling my content, lays a forest. The trees casting shadows upon my meadow, ever changing, always casting despair and doubt.
Today, I awoke in my field, filled with discord. My mind in chaos. In this state of being, I begin to weep. The casting shadows surrounding me, crawling around my collapsed form, daring to devour my being. Along with my misery, the blades share my woe. They turn the color of Autumn.
In the midst of this state, a feeling crawls out. In the blur of tear soaked sight, a seraph stands before me. Her flames warming my skin, drying the tears upon my face. The shadows fleeting away from us. She stands before me on four legs. Her sapphire eyes gleam with the chill of ice. Her scold reminds me of the responsibilities of age and the courage that follows.
I begin to rise, when she drags her tongue across my face. A kiss, as a mother would give to her children, to remind them of her maternal compassion.
The meadow mimics my emotion, standing tall, flowing green waves of spring. The motherly wolf suddenly gives a sharp bark. In doing so she regains my full attention. I listen, yet she does not speak, though I know what she says. I find myself to my feet and begin to walk. The grass forms a path to let me through, I know they wish to follow me, but they still hold contentment in their land.
As I meet the forest, it's shadows stare back at me. I feel it's chaos wrapping in on it's self. Both and neither, excitingly awaiting me to tread It's floors and writhing in fear of my presence. This forest is my confusion in essence. My guide beckons me to enter the forest, to enter my own insanity.
