The Pardon’s Wife

Triste  — Photographer Mukti Echwantono

 

The Pardon’s Wife
100 Words Only

When days are long, nights longer, there thrives a predictable chaos to everything that walks silently behind her. It hides beneath her shadow of certainty, which she prays to righteously and religiously. It smiles as she makes missteps, finding glee in the lessons. It frightens her in the dark, having no hands to hold. It lies in wait as she becomes ever more unsure as
to her purpose and direction. It casts a net of paralysis over her will and determination. When she reaches the point of wretched indecision, it reveals itself as a familiar stranger, an unwelcome friend, Fear. 

 

“It was my own fear that allowed me to keep a safe distance from myself.”
― M. L. Lurie, The Lost Journal 

Banks – “Beggin For Thread”                                                             Dilemma     Panic

Trône’s Inamorata

Photographer Rimel Neffati

 

Conflict and river banks
Are more pronounced,
Days of constant meandering.
Men-at-arms have all but receded,
Whispers of footsteps
Have given way,
Passage too.
All that remains,
Battlefield’s bare-bones
And ghost footbridges;
Once crossed
Without delay.
A certain silence
Rings the bells of grief,
In a land of memories;
Bitter, not so sweet.

 

“We are forlorn like children, and experienced like old men, we are crude and sorrowful and superficial — I believe we are lost.”
― Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front

Wolf Larsen — “If I Be Wrong”                                                      Passionate      Fragile

And So It Is

Lee Miller photographed by Man Ray

 

There exists something different, strange and mysterious today. I can smell the stillness, perhaps it’s the uncertainty of the known. I blink, accepting an invitation to an alternate reality. I blink again, I can no longer discern what material is, I assure myself it’s of no importance. An indescribable release floods my being, I let go of all attachments that anchor me to a realm of light and dark. There’s a weightlessness found in this saturated calm, like the air after a good hard rain. I feel more alive than ever, the perpetual violet twilight smiles down on me. With grace I push-off, fully immersing myself, slipping silently into the visible abyss of everything and nothing. No longer blinking, I forget all that came before this moment.

 

“Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay

Henry Halloway reads, “A Dream Within a Dream” by Edgar Allan Poe.       Zing!

Soot

Photography by Magdalena Lutek

 

Soot
10 Words Only

Knowingly, you played me like a fiddle.  I was Rome.

 

“I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath   

alt-J (∆) – “Breezeblocks”                                                                 Vice             Eclipse