Tuesday, April 21, 2015

The Haze

The darkness rolled in with a fury on the backs of the clouds. The wind began to howl, rattling the windows and slamming the shutters against the house. The scent of rain filled the room, but nay drop fell. The flame of the candle flickers in its aqua container, illuminating the room with its aura. His books stacked perfectly, each one resting on another, interlocked forming a barrier around him. Their spines spoke the tales within. Each tale blends with the next, filling his mind, filling his soul, like a lullaby. Slowly he begins to drift off into a haze, slowly he becomes its passenger, and slowly he becomes its spectator. He feels the warmth of her breath on his face, so soothing. He feels her soft, wet lips gently press against his cheek, pressing him deeper into the haze. A strand of her hair brushes across his brow, wiping away the doubt. Deeper he drifts. Deeper into the haze. Sometimes in the words of others, we somehow …somehow we find our own 


  1. Oh, Mangus, that was just lovely! And oh, so very true. We learn form reading, and that includes how to write and who we are. I loved the heart of this piece. xo

  2. What a beautiful and mystical piece. Excellent work!