Rhythm By Isabel Evelyn Standing at the end of the world, there are no sounds and words fall from the lips like molten rock (red with passion but black in feeling). Lights shine, blocking the sky from view. Light up gods in the distance spin in circles for all to see (only if you are high up enough). Four friends – strangers in reality – wander open fields of starlight and broken glass. Fire and bodies both stationary and moving. This isn’t life is it? How do we function in a world that knows no end? How does the world continue to spin (round and round and round again)? Why is it that we move and die and go through and hurt those we hardly know? Those that fight are enlightened. Music solves all, doesn’t she? The greatest song in the world lights the hall of heroes, a star in the blackness of never ending light. I hope the time past death has the greatest song in the world. Rose petals of so many different types fall from above. Beautiful things cover The Beautiful. You, me, and something else, something not important. But… how is The Beautiful what it is, why is it The Beautiful? Why do I like it so? Why does it cover me? How does it decide? Questions are answered with so many different solutions all of which don’t help at all. I fall into the ground. The peak. Why. How. So many words, why can’t I think? Why is it this way... How does life continue... How do words flow out of my pen in such a way? Ink on paper. Words in my head. Thoughts in my heart. Love on my lips. Somehow, I feel the earth take shape under my feet. Words, like notes on a page dance around. Moments not remembered, passing by into the fog of forgotten memories, dancing in the air and suddenly... End
