Work Text:
the texture and music of the wind
the taste of earth and sun-drenched sky;
it’s been years
since Merlin could recall
what it was like to have eyes—and yet
it’s as if he can see it all:
his outstretched limbs and toughened bark
his deep dark roots and bright bleached leaves;
the gnarled years etched into his skin
the rot the moss
the peat-filled logs and ruddy mushrooms
at his base;
echoes of time
woven throughout his body—
criss-crossing in ivy-like fashion
wrapped around him
snug.
unyielding.
time relents for no one;
even he
who commands destruction
who manipulates wrath
who soaks in sadness and lets it spill
from his very fingertips, his mouth, his eyes—
turned up towards the sky;
lost in their golden hues
and with an anguished cry—
become chloroplast and all green-hued
become inhuman and wise
become part of it all, part of time; with
ring-like records
seedling cycles
rhythms and rhymes
sensations and
surrender.
rest.
Saltedkiss Mon 09 Aug 2021 05:00AM UTC
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eat_sleep_manatee Mon 16 Aug 2021 11:55AM UTC
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