The Orchid- A dramatic monologue
As I stood atop mount of modesty
I felt the shrill
Of a sensation of something unfelt before
A sensation of fire set ablaze upon my mortal flesh
I stood atop the mount-
Peering into the purple sunset
With the sensation of fire upon my soul.
I arched my knees,
And slouched down to appreciate its majesty.
Yet as I sat, and the sun set ever farther down-
The vibrations of my soul began to sing.
And as the hue of night painted the sky,
The affinity of divinity wafted by.
The smell of pure grace, beauty and class.
A fragrance of which the olfactory has yet to grasp.
I searched the peak-
Every rock marred, every crevasse filled, and all things eschew.
For the smell of what can only be described as something wonderfully- new.
I retired to my original place,
And let out a sigh.
For what I was trying to locate,
I knew not why.
And as I rested my weary head on the rock behind,
The sensation grew ever more intensified.
This time,
However,
The soul was not its host,
For it was my neck, where it seeked to go.
I brushed off my neck,
And the feeling receded-
This time to my hand.
I turned round,
Reached out and touched the hot air.
I reached down,
And located the source of the sensation.
An Orchid-
With the hue of sunset stained on its petals.
An Orchid-
With the scent of uncertainty etched in its nectar.
The very source of this fiery sensation and aroma
Came from a plant with which I do not know of-
Its origin, purpose, or its anything respectively.
And in my grasp,
Lie a dainty flower,
With the scent of evaporated passion.
And for a moment-
Of utmost clarity.
Everything began disintegrating around me.
