Aduialithil

Two black figures threaded through the wastes like sinew through a black needle. There was no end in sight: only the dust, only the dry, only old buried bones and the hope for rain that would not come. Their pace was slow. They picked their way between rocks and patches of thorny scrub and brambles; around pits of black sand and the poisonous tips of the prickle-plant. Where the ground was rough with rocks and gravel, they walked gently as shadows over skin; where it was loose and sandy, they tread with breathless feather-light steps - mindful that a misstep might slip into motion an irrevocable cascade of ruin. At each and every turn, the land presented new obstacles. There was no accustomation to its meter, nor comfort in its monotony: only the invitation to mesmerised tedium and, unerringly, an irresistible lapse into careless danger. The wastes appeared identical in every direction. The horizon was uneven in a constant sort of way: its rises and dips were marked with

The wasteland knew no name. The town, hunkered blindly in the dust, was nameless; and the bar that was its heartbeat, dark and huddled against the glaring sun, bore no name either. Tanya sat at the bar, ice clinking idly in her glass, and surveyed the room. Her chair creaked beneath her, and the floorboards beneath it; quiet murmurs filled dim corners occupied by twos and threes and single drinkers who spoke only to themselves. Dust coated every surface in the room. It floated aimlessly through the air, turning suddenly sharp and blinding as it caught the slanted sunlight that thrust through window slats and split the darkness. The old, stained wood of which the place had been built had been worn past its polish long ago; the metal which bound it together was tarnished dark and dull, and no longer shone when struck by the windowlight. The door, set on loose hinges, creaked slightly in the wind; and though the bar remained cool and dim, the outside heat crept in through its crevices

The pendulum swung perpetually against the darkness, measuring temperamental moments and calling the tolling of the time. Nyanar watched it uneasily as it turned back, and forth, and back, and forth… It loomed ominously against the blackness, a single lance of silver both unfathomably large and, beyond these endless reaches, ultimately insignificant. It had been there for some time now, neither fading nor resolving - only remaining caught between the rhythms of its own sinister momentum. Will this legacy return another century, indeed, Nyanar thought grimly. The ground beneath it was riddled with cracks, felt but not seen, and she picked her way around them to approach the point of the pendulum’s turning. Her own thoughts echoed back to her: It was not time that would tell - it was the stars. Uneasily, she glanced up again at that swinging pendulum on its starless firmament; it was true, but when the winds were so like to change on the slightest breath, what the heavens cast down

Forever we are walking in the endless dark Blindly groping for the way we cannot see There is no knowing path on which we can embark No exodus to dawn, no shadow we can flee Instead, eternal wandering is left to us ahead Alone, it often seems, and alone will ever be Left to journey through the empty world in our dread Of the echoes of our lonely voices, no other sounds to hear Calling out in search of guides by whom we may be led Those who know the answers and bring comfort to our fear Who carry with them lanterns to drive away the gloom Bring light and kindle gladness, hold warmth to gather near But still no voices answer, and the silent darkness looms Cold with deep uncaring as it permeates through all Lost, we restless wander here in horror of our doom Despairing at our sightlessness and feeling oh so small Not seeing it is we who must illuminate the night And answer when we hear the cry of voices as they call We must be the ones to move the darkness with our light

Melancholy, said the Greeks, is an excess of black bile. Bitterness, brewed by the world like tea leaves left to steep too long; To be left with tea far too strong for any but those whose tastes have hardened beyond sense to familiarity. Tea leaves tattle on the future, so they say; this bitter tea leaves dismal dregs at the bottom of a cup gone cold because the world is cold and thermodynamics says we we will be too, someday. Black blood tastes decidedly irony as it drips sluggishly down our throats from our bitten tongues, gurgling on sticky laughter when others ask “what’s wrong?”; well, if we were able to tell, the problem would never have come. Instead black blood becomes black bile, spat at the grievances that do not see we are grieving seething with all the words we have been sheathing, deflecting temptation for redemption while the world keeps believing What we have long since lost - we burned up and boiled away trying too hard to stay that way

So here we are: Using, abusing, choosing to make tools out of every half-wit person who wanders into our reach; listening to what the world will teach and breach, seeking out every nook and cranny crack and crevice levying buildings built on foundations old as earth and older - overhauling, underworking, making new those seeds which have been lurking Unwanted distrusted Old and dusted with the memories of a thousand battles played out, once more, once more, once more - Dance steps, delicate, dainty, dragged across the floor Asking, please - no more - No more of this wishy-washy wishing of half-truths of cobbled-together once-was, witlessly wandering through cast-off nets meant for catching fishes which have Slipped between our fingers And now we linger on the memories, dream with the tides which seep below our feet lapping tongues with the deep and lull us into sleep, Pulling us away from sense and sound to rock, cradlelessly on the sea, Forgetting all we were supposed to be Let

This is a letter to you: I dreamed of you again last night And tried at last to put it right; Below the stars, beneath the trees Where words pass much more easily These places we have been before But have not now For years, and more - In firelight, and dark, and smoke I hunted you and then we spoke - This time was the last of time Before I came and left; For even dreams now show the signs This place has long since not been mine Not since you sought to cast me out As sacrifice for others’ doubts For sins we both knew were not mine But bore for others’ peace of mind (I’d give to you a piece of mine) … I took my leave, and just before I crossed the threshold of the door Before descending down the stairs At moment’s last, you caught me there I spoke to you the words I’d say Were we to meet again someday The words I found two days apart From years weighed heavy On my heart - You said nothing in return. But actions speak a thousand words And yours you gave, and yours I heard; And