Descendants of an aftermath.

scenic view of open field during night time

When the smoke cleared, we left what was left of the temples and abandoned our sacrificial cups. No longer painting the chapel walls, we made canvases of our skins, our creed now take this body, and we gave it up. Nothing could save us, and we carried this truth as a torch foisted before our faces, marching into the long night. We were something else now, wild, painted creatures of flesh and word, with no more monuments to shield us from the elements that mocked our feeble forms. An awareness grew, of an element breathing among us as we moved, but we would no sooner mark this with a sign than claim the wind.

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

4 thoughts on “Reverberations”

  1. Absolutely beautiful Stacey. A departure and return. This may be one of my favourite pieces that I’ve read of yours. That last line!!!

    1. Chris, thank you for this comment. It helps remind me to bookmark this one to wonder over or develop some more in the future. It had a certain distinct tug for me, too.

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