The Fall

Sudden.
The heavens opened up below our feet.
Our wings held us no longer.
-Dragged-
an ancient force tugging,
Pulling.
Dragging.
All bodies
Funneled down t’wards the depths.
A ray of flesh
Shining down from the heavens above.

The Dammed
Gazing.
Staring.
Looking up at the heavens above.
First came the light.
The clouds parted,
Releasing bright
sharp
Light.
Then darkness.
The gap filled.
Endless bodies,
Heavenly no longer,
Tightly thrust.
Squeezed.
Through the tear,
A rip in paradise.
Thousand by thousand.
The bodies plummet
Into the fiery furnace,
N’eath the heavens above.

The Dammed,
Screaming,

Falling.

-Nessie Roswell

Eyes burn bright
On sleepless nights
Staring into dancing flames
Watching a world burn within.

Walking the cobblestone
A building engulfed
People screaming
People burning
A flaming renaissance.

Da Vinci’s hand,
Dante’s design,
Shakespearean.

Inside the embers
So clear,
so crisp.
A beautiful tragedy.

-Transcendent-

A silhouetted rider
Mounts a white horse
Rearing up above the flames.
Terror lay in its eyes,
Evil laced the rider’s.

The horse’s scream
-distant-
But the stallion close enough to touch.

Their shadows given shape By the amber glow behind.

The vision
-Extinguished-
As the world,
The world on fire
Now In ashes.

-Nessie Roswell

I built my walls brick by brick.
Plastic windows allow a view.
Colours outside reflect those within.
Colours of red, yellow, green… black and blue.

My roof at the edge of collapse,
My walls are easily shattered.
If something were to break through,
All my pieces would be scattered.

Things that break through, often never stay,
But I have my pieces, and that’s okay.
As soon as they’re gone, my construction begins.
Piece by piece, My heart stings sings

Over time my walls grow tall.
Over time I build and build.

Appearing indestructible…
My fragile walls stand strong

My vulnerable heart
encased inside,
my
Tenuous. Lego. House.

-Nessie Roswell

Complain thee not for the plain of life

For it is yet to be grasped by your hand.

For the clay is innocent,
and yet to be shaped.

The glass, still merely
Sand.

-Nessie Roswell