THE WHISPER OF YOUR MUSIC

THE WHISPER OF YOUR MUSIC - by jrqc

I was just there, pondering my thoughts, and letting them fly when I suddenly realized your obsession with making me cry every time I hear the sweetness of your music and I wondered why my soul longs to be back home, to that place that I treasure within, yet I don't know where it is or what it looks like and when there is a rough chord performed by the bow of your command, my feet remember the silver cobblestoned road leading somewhere.

I feel translucent, I spread my wings as the wind flows through my spiritual being that gets caught in its capricious and turbulent whirls, just to let me out, up and down the wisps of wind, here and there, love, and grandeur, rapture's birth, and sadness' death.

Your music simply envelops me, molds me and tosses me here and there, and I do not complain, what for? if it is your music that revives the torrents of feelings and light within me, as if an almighty force has given you power through the most beautiful music created by the hands of men.

And then I see the rainbow of your passion, that force that crushes the burdens of darkness, bringing forth the torch of light that burns brightly in all of us, and we keep on flying, for that is what we are - freedom, laughter, music, and an endless torrent of wonderful blessed things that we are made of. And our tears, they are made of crystal, though not of sadness, and we sprinkle them here and there for them to be collected by the maidens to decorate our trees with.

Yes, you make me long for home, you make me want to fly and be united with you, flutter everywhere in spirals of felicity, in the sky of our land, in the wind that blows life!

Comments

LA CHICA DEL CALLEJÓN - Descripcion de personaje de ficcion - de jrqc

Ese día el sol brillaba como siempre, bañandola en su resplendor, tornando el color de su piel en tonos de miel y nuez. Su juventud perfumaba la calle y los ojos de los espectadores no la perdían de vista. Ella era simplemente la frescura de la primavera y el calor del verano combinadas casi perfectamente en las carnes y la figura de su cuerpo. Sus senos firmes dejaban entrever las aureolas de la juventud, mientras sus piernas daban paso a ese menear característico de su coqueteo, al que daba rienda suelta así como su castaña y ondulada cabellera. Su mente anidaba la sed de ver el mundo, de ir más allá de embriagarse del placer que éste le pudiera ofrecer y sin escatimar en ambiciones y sueños ella simplemente se dejaba ir. Era la carencia de estas vivencias y posesiones que la presionaban a sumirse y ser esclava de ambiciones que a veces eran malsanas y mezquinas, pero a ella eso no le importaba. Deseaba agarrar al mundo y hacerle su esclavo, deseaba ser complacida y en su parecer er

SACRED SERENADE - by jrqc - poetic prose

(watercolor by jrqc) I hear the in the distance the summoning chant, the striking of the drum, powerful and mighty, I sense your warmth, as if the flame of your passion licked my flesh, as if the sweat of the temple of your body once more bathed me, your voice in unison to the priests, protected by trees standing tall, and the golden fire of old. I see you crowned, I see your majestic beauty draped in white, shield and sword in hand, I see the depths of your eyes and I let you come into the corners of my heart and mind, and I know you will stay, and dwell, and linger, nothing more but feasts, battle and victory for us both. The chants filtered in waves through the branches and twigs, that even they shake in marvel, the wind soft and whimless, caress the goldens of your hair, your mouth smirks in pleasure, I kiss you, and I merged with you in one flesh, and a spring of love and flowers burst within us, and to the forest we belong, and to the stars we sing, and to the moon we howl, and

THAT EVENING - by jrqc

You once said that we are entangled to death since the moment we are born, that we are chained to this earthly prison and that there is nothing we can possibly do about it, that all joy sinks countless times and that lovers will always mourn their dead love swallowed by neverending grief. It seems somehow that sadness in all its complexity lingers within, it extends it branches all over without distinction, with no regrets for who the victim is. Some branches seem to be so rooted that it makes the heart break, it makes it bleed tears to the point that you can barely function. Yes, I do still remember that evening when you said that and I noticed your face sinking, your spirit broken. However, you wouldn't divulge the reason of your torment. Your beautiful darkened eyes were bloodshot and you observed me, intently, your eyebrows would frown at times and your stare would grow deeper as if trying to snatch my soul. You stood close to me, I could feel your cold breath, I could feel you

Articles, essays, poems, short stories and tips on writing

Search This Blog