Posted on March 20, 2014 at 02:59:04 AM by MIDAS
STARING AT THE BOTTOM OF YOUR GLASS
hoping one day you'll make a dream last
BUT DREAMS COME SLOW AND THEY GO SO FAST
Apollo slumbers. The dead still shine above them. The ocean reflects the eerie light from the heavens. Macabre is a silhouette against the abyss beyond.
The king lowers his crown. Though it is summer, the ocean still has a biting cold. The sea breeze snaps against them as it cruises over the waves. The ridge’s claustrophobic beach seems to close in on them on all sides. The towering cliffs cast long shadows. Face relaxes. Macabre looks exhausted, even in the questionable light, he can tell. She is no threat, she does not ask for much. The Ridge is no Harbor, the watchman does not make a habit of offering shelter for every wayward soul. The Ridge is foreboding and fortified. It is home for a handful of Midas’s mares and their safety is paramount. There can be no visitors.
But Macabre is different.
The flaxen woman is an old friend. Rules can be broken for old friends. Or for old lovers…
“Ah, of course.” He nods, bronze gilded eyes still skimming her form. With an arch of neck, he points to the thin path up the cliff face. “Unless Poseidon asks you to stand on his doorstep longer, you are welcome to follow us.” With a knowing tap on Sylvia’s perlino shoulder, the fallen prince moves on. Heart feels heavy from the weight of the past. Memories cloud the mind that wants so much to live fully in the present. Perceptive ears alert, listening intently for hoof beats behind him.
The air becomes noticeably more oppressive, and humid as they move into the jungle. When Apollo arcs into the sky, the whole herd will retreat to the jungles and caverns. Atlantis is insufferable otherwise. His golden form finally stops. Strong legs turn to face his company. The canopy just barely shields him from the peering eyes of ancestors above. “Tell me of your journeys Macabre, for old times sake.” It is true, many suns ago they had shared several nights and mornings such as these, talking about their past and future. It seems fitting for them to share a few more sacred hours in the blanket of the night, even if it is no longer just the two of them.
Time changes all things. The hourglass in unrelenting, this the watchman knows.
The king lowers his crown. Though it is summer, the ocean still has a biting cold. The sea breeze snaps against them as it cruises over the waves. The ridge’s claustrophobic beach seems to close in on them on all sides. The towering cliffs cast long shadows. Face relaxes. Macabre looks exhausted, even in the questionable light, he can tell. She is no threat, she does not ask for much. The Ridge is no Harbor, the watchman does not make a habit of offering shelter for every wayward soul. The Ridge is foreboding and fortified. It is home for a handful of Midas’s mares and their safety is paramount. There can be no visitors.
But Macabre is different.
The flaxen woman is an old friend. Rules can be broken for old friends. Or for old lovers…
“Ah, of course.” He nods, bronze gilded eyes still skimming her form. With an arch of neck, he points to the thin path up the cliff face. “Unless Poseidon asks you to stand on his doorstep longer, you are welcome to follow us.” With a knowing tap on Sylvia’s perlino shoulder, the fallen prince moves on. Heart feels heavy from the weight of the past. Memories cloud the mind that wants so much to live fully in the present. Perceptive ears alert, listening intently for hoof beats behind him.
The air becomes noticeably more oppressive, and humid as they move into the jungle. When Apollo arcs into the sky, the whole herd will retreat to the jungles and caverns. Atlantis is insufferable otherwise. His golden form finally stops. Strong legs turn to face his company. The canopy just barely shields him from the peering eyes of ancestors above. “Tell me of your journeys Macabre, for old times sake.” It is true, many suns ago they had shared several nights and mornings such as these, talking about their past and future. It seems fitting for them to share a few more sacred hours in the blanket of the night, even if it is no longer just the two of them.
Time changes all things. The hourglass in unrelenting, this the watchman knows.
MIDAS
everything you love surely dies
everything you love surely dies