Post by Kirikami on May 18, 2011 22:17:40 GMT -5
The quietness of the surrounding area was strangely satisfying. The midnight hue of the lake seemed the call to the eyes of this single being in the Field of Innocence. This realm was named so, but it was nothing but a wasteland hidden in the folds of aesthetic beauty. A mere physical beauty, a shining star that looms over the Earth's sky like Never-land or the fourth dimension, it was the one place the being in question could retreat to whenever reality was a bit more than what he could ask for.
For all that it was worth, Azrael had always been one to ask questions. In this place, though, the questions had to stop- there was nothing more to ponder in this place and perhaps that is why the lonely soul retreats here. The thoughts of everything, never-ending thoughts that question every nook and cranny of material and spiritual life always would cease here. It was as futile as human life, a fragility that is ambiguous as much as it is true, these thoughts, and yet they are there. Their very being, where they might be useless and serve no purpose, was- no- is perplexing.
Against his own will incarnate he sat, near the lake of sapphire midnight where the words that represent lost feelings constantly slipped unknowingly across the waves. The air which was his seat had simply 'been' there, it was Azrael's will and as such it obeyed. When one speaks of logic, they speak of the inkling of objective thought humankind can muster- all so bound by their subjective reality, it really is amazing. Even if this is true, s far as Azrael could remember, his very talent depended upon his subjective thought. Only within his own mind could he flesh out the world proper about him, an irony of pale humor, that only one who sees through their own eyes could understand and manipulate more than anybody seeing from the outside in. No matter how long the the pale vagrant wonders about these ideas, these facts and instances of reality, he can never reach a straight conclusion. It all leads back to this field, its grasses soft like the hair of angels, the trees swaying as though dancing.
How could he have lived this long, to only find his own devices foiled, and to end up in the land of forgotten feelings. He had committed sins in his past, and yet felt that they were necessary. No excuse, just, as far as they stretched they were for the betterment of a world he was all too alien to. The Earth, and all of it's people may be his origin- he may be a construct of man, blood, and Earth... But this paled in comparison with how he felt. His own mind was all too accepting of the fact that there would be no better place for him than within his own world, and that the writhing of his brethren and their mechanical relationships were far too artificial.
Yet Azrael knew, even as he stared at his satin covered hands that this reality, this field was nothing more than a place of respite for emotions long let go. He wondered how many people are forgotten by the world just after a hundred or so years- how many loves are left to die, and how many times people must hurt each other before they learn each others pain. He wondered if the feelings his mother held for him had already passed by, through this lake in these many years. Ever since he discovered this realm, where earth was but a turn of the head away, he found himself returning to this place more and more often.
Reaching towards the Earth that hung in the sky, Azrael outstretched his lithe fingers, his eyes shifting from vertical red pupils to golden spheres, he could feel his blood boiling gently under the whims of his mind and the calling of his immortal soul. His hand became coalesced in golden light, a light which he let escape into the sky like a gentle scion of the sun. The stars were in his hands and yet, he yearned for more. More than this lulling calm- more than a world unforgiving- only making up for it's greedy lust by the small miracles it produces every lunar day. But he couldn't help but question if, these small miracles, were all that the world could offer in it's defense. Whether or not the efforts of the minority proved that humanity had the right to exist in this expansive universe.
For all that it was worth, Azrael had always been one to ask questions. In this place, though, the questions had to stop- there was nothing more to ponder in this place and perhaps that is why the lonely soul retreats here. The thoughts of everything, never-ending thoughts that question every nook and cranny of material and spiritual life always would cease here. It was as futile as human life, a fragility that is ambiguous as much as it is true, these thoughts, and yet they are there. Their very being, where they might be useless and serve no purpose, was- no- is perplexing.
Against his own will incarnate he sat, near the lake of sapphire midnight where the words that represent lost feelings constantly slipped unknowingly across the waves. The air which was his seat had simply 'been' there, it was Azrael's will and as such it obeyed. When one speaks of logic, they speak of the inkling of objective thought humankind can muster- all so bound by their subjective reality, it really is amazing. Even if this is true, s far as Azrael could remember, his very talent depended upon his subjective thought. Only within his own mind could he flesh out the world proper about him, an irony of pale humor, that only one who sees through their own eyes could understand and manipulate more than anybody seeing from the outside in. No matter how long the the pale vagrant wonders about these ideas, these facts and instances of reality, he can never reach a straight conclusion. It all leads back to this field, its grasses soft like the hair of angels, the trees swaying as though dancing.
How could he have lived this long, to only find his own devices foiled, and to end up in the land of forgotten feelings. He had committed sins in his past, and yet felt that they were necessary. No excuse, just, as far as they stretched they were for the betterment of a world he was all too alien to. The Earth, and all of it's people may be his origin- he may be a construct of man, blood, and Earth... But this paled in comparison with how he felt. His own mind was all too accepting of the fact that there would be no better place for him than within his own world, and that the writhing of his brethren and their mechanical relationships were far too artificial.
Yet Azrael knew, even as he stared at his satin covered hands that this reality, this field was nothing more than a place of respite for emotions long let go. He wondered how many people are forgotten by the world just after a hundred or so years- how many loves are left to die, and how many times people must hurt each other before they learn each others pain. He wondered if the feelings his mother held for him had already passed by, through this lake in these many years. Ever since he discovered this realm, where earth was but a turn of the head away, he found himself returning to this place more and more often.
Reaching towards the Earth that hung in the sky, Azrael outstretched his lithe fingers, his eyes shifting from vertical red pupils to golden spheres, he could feel his blood boiling gently under the whims of his mind and the calling of his immortal soul. His hand became coalesced in golden light, a light which he let escape into the sky like a gentle scion of the sun. The stars were in his hands and yet, he yearned for more. More than this lulling calm- more than a world unforgiving- only making up for it's greedy lust by the small miracles it produces every lunar day. But he couldn't help but question if, these small miracles, were all that the world could offer in it's defense. Whether or not the efforts of the minority proved that humanity had the right to exist in this expansive universe.
