The Ink Script

[04k96]

Here

[theinkscript]

Not much longer

How long is a life?

How long is a year?

How long is a lifetime?

How long is one chapter before the next appears?

How long is the present?

How long is the past?

How long is this moment?

How long after goodbye does a memory last?

How long is long enough?

How long is not?

How long is long?

[zagrebinaa]

[theinkscript]

I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind

I remember the heavy blanket of sleep I remember the quiet afternoon heat I remember the rhythm that wasn't mine I remember the heartbeat that was I remember wild dogs barking in the distance I remember me. I remember not being me I remember... something I remember nothing I remember everything

[maureen2musings]

A little relaxation, Brooks Falls, Alaska @achdiefranzi

[theinkscript]

GRAVITY

And if one day, the veil shall fall What would you give, could you throw it all To the cliffs, the winds, the spitting flames  And crawl, past the whispered howls To that marbled hall?

Where before you stands a mirror 9 foot tall Could you raise your eyes, would you be enthralled? By the shadows, the refraction, your unfiltered self Or withdraw, back into that silent fog Where no fires thaw?

And when sun and darkness come to fall All at once  Could you remember the candle's flame, or would your courage stall For reason, for charade, for the sleepwalker's sake Your choice is both infinite and infinitely small 

When time demands you show the rhythm's call Would you turn within, or could you do without Hearing it at all?  From echo, from spiral, and old scripts that befall Every step once taken, matter not one bit and yet most of all.

[ultimate-passport]

London - England 

[leahberman]

night bloom

instagram - twitter - website

[heylsgowt]

[sehomes]

[theinkscript]

Pg. 2017

I've heard say "The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” I understand that now. Because while no one - including himself - knew what it was he carried, He felt the weight of it Every. Single. Goddamn. Day Since that night.

And that? All that, has a cost. It bought loss - Loss of knowing. Loss of years. Loss of something that meant everything to him... And nothing to them.

They left without a thought. They were the last word in his story - A story that was never written, And yet… The only story his body could stake its life on.

What if they knew that? What if he believed that?

I've heard say "Some truths don't have a name." I didn't understand that before. Because... how can what's known not be claimed? Maybe the reason is that once he turned away, once he didn't say So its presence took the shape of a hollow Since that night. And that? All that, has a price. It bought a maze, the kind in which - Moonbeams are tripwires Compasses whirl infinitely And all paths wind back to the start for him... But unravel into an exit ramp for them.

They left without a thought. They were the last word in his story - A story that was never written, And yet… The only story his body would stake its life on.

What if they signed that empty chapter? What if he found meaning in those blank pages?

[theinkscript]

Ghost King

PART I The world was his kingdom and yet nothing belonged to him. Everything he touched flickered into oblivion or vanished in a spiral of smoke. But he knew those things existed with the same certainty that he knew himself to exist. He knew it and he could prove it. People recoiled when his eyebrows furrowed - so he was real. He had power. He understood the might of the sword and the weight of a silent second as well as he understood the softness of flesh and fragility of bone. But none belonged to him anymore. And that was good, because there's a certain freedom to exile. And that was bad, because in truth he was trapped, in a world he owned but didn't belong to him. The times he felt closest to the world, when his fingers almost could tickle the hot-blooded human chaos around him, was when he defied its boundaries, shoved and hollered at the banality of the common, and elicited a spark of doubt in their eyes. That gave him a thrill. That neutralized the gravity of currents which tugged at him so relentlessly, pulling him away from the atoms that make up matter and the invisible yarns that weave us together in this earthly tapestry. But even that fades... -- PART II One night Ghost King came to a realization... How could he claim a skeleton bound in skin if he refused to feel it burn - knowing the body’s pulse only builds the shadow of one. And how could he be loved if he prowled the perimeter of love's illogic without falling inside - knowing its beauty only illuminates the whispers of affection. To be human, he must sacrifice his invincibility. To belong, he must surrender his kingdom. Ghost King wondered… Does he nudge this world to prove he exists, to remember why he exists, or to exist?

[theinkscript]

Two Worlds

They said, you must have seen some different things! I did: the trees, the moon, the waters They said, you know what I mean, things we don't see here I did: the cars, the sidewalks, the shops

They said, what about the guns, the tanks, the soldiers? Do you mean the sandbags, the checkpoints, the barbed wire? They said, yes that sort of thing! There are firearms and uniforms here too They said, well what about the dead guys and the bad guys? There are cemeteries and prisons here too

They said, but you must have seen something different I did: the food, the cook behind the fire, the faucets, the face behind the mirror They said, we've got those here We do They said, so how's it any different? It's not what you see that's different, But the way you see it differently.

They said, in what way? In the way you pay attention to the gravel along a murky riverbank In the way you watch the gentle-eyed dogs search for shade And in the way one glance between two people conveys the gravity of a moment

They said, tell me more In knowing that a cry for help is always answered, sometimes even before you ask In the unsaid sacrifice that underlies every gift and favour And in the cautious hospitality that bely a stranger's 'welcome'

They said, that's not so different from us Yes and no They said, by what measure? By the depth of friendships with those who have known death By the meaning of trust in a place where everything's at stake By not knowing until the end when the beginning started

They said, what's that got to do with anything? I'm not sure but... It's why the trees sway silently, the moon shines more brightly, and the waters swirl patiently there - so it seems It's why a truck's rattle, a paved road, and an open store means something more there - so I learned And it's why home seems farther in distance but closer to heart there - so it feels They said, maybe... what's different isn't the things you saw They said, what's different is you

Yes... That's it. No... At least not all of it.

They said, what else then? Here, 4am means a few more hours until the next day There, 4am is just a number Here, the stars sparkle when the night is clear, and you search for constellations in the sky There, the stars are ancient and unyielding, and you stagger under the boldness of their gaze Here, consequences are abstractions  There, sequences and sequels unravel endlessly 

They said, that’s not always true I guess I don't know then, or rather, I don't understand They said, what is it you don't understand? I don't understand if we are trapped or lost or free I don't understand the wildness, the madness, the timelessness of it all And I don't understand the balance between fullness and emptiness

They said, here or there? I can't tell because...  It straddles both worlds - victory, defeat, honour, deceit, the remarkable and horrific... And I straddle both worlds - the defiance, the rage, being dazzled, being moved...

They said, this feeling travels with you? I think... this feeling lingers in me They said, I think… this feeling resides in all of us. It's human. They said... and perhaps why it's indescribable is because, despite that, we exist so differently.

Yes... That's it.

[theinkscript]

A Pomegranate of Hope

Her lined hands crack open the wizened orb  Revealing a tiny nest of iridescent rubies. "This life is harsh" she sighs. "What war is gentle?" he replies.  "The children, they don't laugh anymore" she says.                         "I hear them talk of their dreams still" he muses. "Dreams are for those who have the luxury of hope” she murmurs.

For a moment, they look towards the orange horizon, dotted with endless lines of quietly fluttering tents.

His fingers tease out the poppy-red jewels From the white rind of the small fruit. "You know, I hope" he smiles. "About what?" she frowns. "I hope they see beyond the grief and rage of today, gain the wisdom to grasp that vengeance cannot return what has been lost, and find belonging even in exile. I hope they leave behind their ghosts but keep their spirit, never take for granted the wonders of the land, and dare feel the rawness of life despite the sorrows endured. Most of all, I hope that one day, they will understand why I hope for them these things."

Standing side-by-side, they let one moment pass, and then another.

"This hope..." she ventures "Would you die for it?" "Much more" he says "I will live with it." For FN, 0624, BGW-I

[clair-de-lunne]

[folkandseasons]

folk and seasons

[the-mountain-life]