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a c t o n e
just like the flower writhers after full bloom, he must always let them go
with mortality comes transience. the beauty of aging that slowly turns into the horrors of dying, he knows the means.
a purpose that takes the most out of him. the melancholy of his livelyhood, for most, is unbearable.
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he was blessed himself, a manifestation of a legend come true
the lives he lived and the roles he played made him special. he was a rarity among gods for he was not born with immortality.
he was kingdom come, their salvation and pathway towards rebirth. but resurrection only comes to the worthy of all.
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she was heartfelt remembrance, grievous tears and startling flashbacks; all-knowing and never-changing.
her memories were plenty, but she never dared to influence them. she keeps them dear in an endless museum of inner tumoils.
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like a true keeper of the past,
she carried nostalgia and longing in her heart
like a lingering touch, the thoughts he implemented could have lasted a life time
he is neither good nor evil, for he is the cause of free will and the consequences of one's own actions.
his defiance could be the breaking of chains but mostly it was the beginning of malevolence.
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even if the lucid dream was worth dwelling in, reality would always find a way back
gruesome presents, regretful pasts, he helped those who wanted to live the life that never was but could have been.
an ignorance so blissful, his daydreams were meant to help them all dwell, and so his eyes were like a drowning sea.
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she was neither this or that,
her ambiguous stillness was never the same
she was the desire and fear of humans and gods alike, a goddess with everchanging temper and greed, suffocatingly so.
there was no balance inside of her. she just is. the silence of her soul was the epitome of dark suspense.
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she forgets, always,
and yet she is still humming
to the melody of memories
she was peaceful, a merci-ful goddess. but she wasn't loved, she was exploited. her help and benevolence was plenty.
for she lived the life of countless, but never her own. to free the bothered, her certain fade to take the weight of the past.
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