“Trying to reach the lighter side while flying towards the sun, can be hard“ Gun Roswell
The wings heavy and exhausted from flying all through the night, but the fight to survive is far from over. Or at least, that is how it feels, as the only thing this winged being wants to do, is to get into the bright light of the day, wherever it may lay ahead, at least that is the hope for the weary traveller up high in the skies.*
But what happens when the darkness finally ends? After having so much time inside there spent, can the light really be the long awaited saviour our winged friend was looking for all this time? Is the feeling they had been looking for simply fine? Basking there, in the eternal light, without any strife the best way of living it, only nice?
Well, guess we will never find out the total truth as some of us prefer the lure of darkness, the shadows so safe, there is simply no way, letting in that bright and shiny sun into the corners where we, the dark dwellers
“They’re just there doing their thing, frolicking in the tall winds, catching fish from the seas, our feathered friends, the dinosaurs of today” Gun Roswell
Our feathered friends The windy air bend Flying to the world’s end For their leisure time to spend
“The wings spread, the wind beneath holding great guiding ever upwards, nose straight, looking ahead, the destination really not set, as it’s just about the flight, nothing else” Gun Roswell
Flying through the air Without a single care A beauty with flare Innocence unaware
Flapping her wings While the wind sings Sky feels like spring A scene well worthy Of kings
“The birds are lucky in a way that they can take off, then fly real hight up into the air, leaving this planet or at least the ground far behind.” Gun Roswell
Flying through the air Without a single care A beauty with flare Innocence unaware
Flapping her wings While the wind sings Sky feels like spring A scene well worthy Of kings
“Trying to reach the lighter side while flying towards the sun, can be hard“ Gun Roswell
From eternal darkness into awaiting light
The wings heavy and exhausted from flying all through the night, but the fight to survive is far from over. Or at least, that is how it feels, as the only thing this winged being wants to do, is to get into the bright light of the day, wherever it may lay ahead, at least that is the hope for the weary traveller up high in the skies.
But what happens when the darkness finally ends? After having so much time inside there spent, can the light really be the long awaited saviour our winged friend was looking for all this time? Is the feeling they had been looking for simply fine? Basking there, in the eternal light, without any strife the best way of living it, only nice?
Well, guess we will never find out the total truth as some of us prefer the lure of darkness, the shadows so safe, there is simply no way, letting in that bright and shiny sun into the corners where we, the dark dwellers
‘Falling to ones death doesn’t mean it is the end of things.’
The Fallen Ice Vulture and the Ascended Angel
Falling fast.
Life death, all things that nature never really last. The only thing which matters is trying from those to move past.
The remorse, the regrets, the failures, all those to be left behind. Once done, shedding those feelings, letting oneself become, the undone, something of the other kind can begin, another kind of tune to which with sing.
But what if there is nothing there? What then? What of the scare? Only the consuming darkness into which enfold awaiting? Becoming no more, the one single state always hated?
All of that which came before, wasted? Like the sacrifice made for others, not being able to watch on as they thrive, being alive just because the choice was made to keep them safe?
Falling, ever deeper.
The sensations of the body becoming clearer, the mind following suit. There is nothing more to be done except to let it happen. The inevitable fate down below waiting. Getting nearer.
The end.
There will be pain, for sure. But hopefully only for a diminishing moment before the cold grasp of death so pure ends it all. Must stand proud, be tall. It is just a fall after all.
Almost there now.
The ground visible. The irony of the beauty there, the blues, the whites, the greens, all the colours so bright and vivid as far as he eyes can see. Something of a scenery to be committed to memory during any other time… but this.
As soon, there will be nothing left. No more memories, no other thoughts, no nothing any more. It’s the way, the death’s score. The being that once was, no more.
Yielding, to the inevitable now.
Even if there might have been so much doubt. The mind always working. Trying to figure out.The before time, before the fall. All of it. But during the all too brief moment, some of it becoming pure torment of the mind… the only kind of thoughts being those… of letting it all go. The forever sleep awaiting. No more hesitation.
The ground almost at level.
The last resting place visible ahead there. Eyes closed, no use in seeing it all up front, close and personal. The final hit to the ground as the body crashing, falling into pieces, somewhere where there where no one else sees it…
Thank the Force for small favours!
Letting go, letting go… the mantra playing in slow-mo.
A gust of wind all around suddenly. The soft sounds of… winds flapping?
Birds of prey? No, no, no! They cannot slay! Not so dead yet anyway!
Eyes, eyes, all over spy, trying to find the source of why.
Another flap of wings, the sound closer now, somehow even larger this time around.
Falling?
No, slowing down.
Being grabbed a hold of somehow.
The softness surrounds. A feathery light touch all around. A surprise!?
Am I, dead or alive?
The flapping of the wings continue, carrying away no more ground to be found. Higher ever upwards flying, another surprise! Perhaps even a soft smile? No more falling, that is nice. Feeling light. Ended has the fight, life, death, all things that nature. Is this something in between perhaps?
A soft gravely croak, somehow familiar sounds. As if talking, trying to understand the underlying meaning of the talk of it all. And then it hits. Like a ton of hard bricks! Inside of the head. A thought perhaps? A telepathic link into the mind sinks. The connection clearer now, as if a frequency opened? Or is this pure delusional hoping?
Dead or alive? The guess is as good as any of the mind.
Flying real high, far away from the ground and the fall. Perhaps surviving or then its just the remnant thought, of the body once brilliant having been. So many things seen, now leaving.
But the words inside get so much clearer. The voice so familiar that much is becoming surer.
Higher, ever more higher up. The clouds at reach now.
Could be so easy to touch them, but don’t dare. Not even daring to hope this is all real. Perhaps the one last dream before falling into the eternal sleep? Daring to hope perhaps not a good deal.
“I am here.”
“Who, are you?”
“I am here, for you.”
The voice too familiar. Having heard it so many times before. The soft hissing sounds, the gravely tone. Not of a bird, but someone, once known.
“I know you.”
“Yes you do. I came for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you needed me.”
“Simple as that?”
“Simple, as that.”
“But you were…”
“I know. But not any more.”
“Where are we going?”
“Wherever you want.”
“Am I alive?”
“That, is for you to decide.”
Flying over the lush green lands. Finally in good hands or rather, held by a wide wing’s span. The Vulture with the darkest of feathers so blue, taking the fallen towards the light.
“The small bird keeps on singing its song all day long, but, are you really listening?“ Gun Roswell
The watcher on the ledge
The bird who on the ledge keeps on sitting, sometimes it might be singing, but often times, only watching, observing, taking notes, of all those around and below, just in the hopes, that maybe, someone would sometime read them and then, maybe learn from the past experiences of all the others making their mistakes, which this observer of a kind, has painstakingly recorded for all mankind, for the future reference for a much needed learning experience in them to find.
So, next time around, when you spot a bird, on the higher ground, sitting on the ledge up there, maybe even singing a few songs, for your pleasure, just to make you feel safe, and then give you some much needed strength, even for the moment as theses birds are there only to replay, those past events in the form of a song. And whether you are listening in to the wisdom in there is really up to you, so please do, listen carefully, and maybe you can learn something important too.
“Flying? Ain’t nuttin’ to it! Just spread your wings, start running and lift off! That is if you are a bird of course. If you’re stupid human? Guess what? You’re grounded. For good.” Gun Roswell
Flying up high is a dream for some of us
Being afraid of heights might just bring up the plight for some of us
But then there are those of us who dream to get up high as the birds fly
It might be a hard and even an impossible a task to do
Without the wings to support and lift off the heavy body
Alas the solution might just be simple, even if somewhat costly:
Buying tickets to a machine which does the work for you
So get on the that aeroplane and on the wing side stay
“A family of ducks, did their feathers pluck, in the middle of the lake, which as no fake, and with the serene waters quite still, as the ducks always came there to chill“ Gun Roswell
Shadows reflected
The birds, the insects, even a few daring peoples, usually wandered off to the near by lake, just to take, a surface dive, on the water’s edge, being none to deep, it was easy to simply in the bottom of it to sit, cooling down after a long day doing whatever, but as soon as they had reached the blue liquid place, their minds, totally went into a different state, the same for all the animals, humans and other types alike, nothing to put away the daily strife, but into a calming blue water taking a shallow dive.
“There is nothing to it, just flap your wings and fly away, at least, that is how it was to me explained, but haven’t tried it yet thought, maybe I should? After all, it could actually work, even with my stubby wings on my old back?” Gun Roswell
Fly to the monochromatic grey
Taking flight in the middle of the night, flying ever so high by simply, or rather not simply, flapping the wings of might, as there is nothing quite so daring, as trying and exceeding mind over gravity, as the pull is no longer winning, and the earth, stopped all spinning, as the sensations of floating freely up against the tall of the very skies is the only thing making the flyers heart roar and sing, as it is indeed a thing, when finally in flight, in the might of the grey coloured skies.
But that of course, could only be in fantasy as the birds and bees are the only ones capable of such a great feat, and so, even if only in the fantasy for the non winged ones, left here on the ground and can now only in envy watching those capable to rise above the clouds, disappearing into the shroud of the grey covering it all, and they will never fall as the winds will carry them to wherever they need to go, but those of us with clipped wings can still bring joy out of seeing them up there fly, and in our secret dreams, we can too.
Rantings Of A Third Kind 