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LIGHT
Spain 1902.
Alonzo:
My hands have decided to write no more and my soul have been deprived from all the beauty it held, like my father had said "Nothing last forever" but I never knew those words applies to talents and chaos. As a boy when things doesn't last it explicitly means life and youthful age. I guess nobody realized that One day an opera singer could be rendered useless because her voice wasn't pitched enough but that is understandable.
The fact that she had showed the world a little bit of her but what about us, Us whose voice aren't heard before it was lost. That is wicked, and selfish. And should we blame God for that Destiny.
My father always say Destiny isn't a Destination,it isn't something to settle down for but it is something attainable if you made the right choice and I haven't made it. At 37, I knew my life has end because I haven't become what I visualize for myself. There are nights I cried myself to sleep staring at the leaking ceiling and trying to write something out of sadness but nothing ever came but books as always are empty as my soul.
I thought a man like me who have seen alot of tragedy should be able to write something worthy and tell a true story but I guess words are something mediocre will never truly understood. I had a plan that at 29 I will be one of the most eligible bachelors. An inspiration to the younger generation in Spain but at 37 I have manage to be an apprentice to old Mister Walton in the heart of London.
And I can't even do what I know how to do well. Write, the pain it takes to stare at words that are not mine spilling from my hands. Sadly those are the good days. On worst days my books are .empty. I steady my breathing as I walk past the wardon woods as I fear the evil that lurks inside it_ but I don't think I fear it, I think it reminds me of as I am now, Though it is the fastest route to my house. The English men fear the wardon woods as they say it holds untold stories. But if a man suffers from broken heart, he follows darkness Or rather passes through it.
But tonight was different walking further from it to the brothel that leads to the ghetto outskirts of London, I noticed something. Some sort of light that flashed through its trees. I stop, afraid.
"Who is there" I scream out. Instead of running, and saw a flash of something it stare at me then began to run. Inside I knew I have encountered some kind of religion my mother failed to teach me as a child. I run after the light tearing through, twigs and trees nevermind death at the edge of woods of untold stories. Just then I caught it, not with my hands but eyes I realized what I actually encountered. It was an alien body in human form. It looks like soul for it held no skin color whatsoever but still there were words written all over it.
There is a name for it in Spanish, and a story about it. My mother had call it myth, I had to myself at some point. It is a mystical creatures that hold stories that never been told. That when it dawn to me, The woods of untold stories_ but light is what we call it in Spanish because it was light and it lit the woods, it stare at me with what it called eyes and I was enchanted by all of it and I cried at it beauty especially what it held, and As if it understood me it walked over to me and stood over me like some kind of god, I touched it face and I do know I have encountered something and this is not religion. This my dear friend is spirituality, I have never been a sucker for religion or spirituality but I always know to believe in the presence of the supreme being. I felt it stories, no I felt my stories the one I refuse to write, the one that had strained away from me. for hours we stood that way until It disappear deeper into the woods. I should follow it but then even a man with darkness knows better.
I went home that night feeling awaken, and for the first time in 10 years I wrote two sentences that made sense, and when I lay on my bed I wasn't depress like I once were, I knew at that moment, such light will always be mine. I needed to safe guard it from the unruly eyes. I promise myself that I will protect it and it will be mine as much as I will be his.
© Black_Culture
Alonzo:
My hands have decided to write no more and my soul have been deprived from all the beauty it held, like my father had said "Nothing last forever" but I never knew those words applies to talents and chaos. As a boy when things doesn't last it explicitly means life and youthful age. I guess nobody realized that One day an opera singer could be rendered useless because her voice wasn't pitched enough but that is understandable.
The fact that she had showed the world a little bit of her but what about us, Us whose voice aren't heard before it was lost. That is wicked, and selfish. And should we blame God for that Destiny.
My father always say Destiny isn't a Destination,it isn't something to settle down for but it is something attainable if you made the right choice and I haven't made it. At 37, I knew my life has end because I haven't become what I visualize for myself. There are nights I cried myself to sleep staring at the leaking ceiling and trying to write something out of sadness but nothing ever came but books as always are empty as my soul.
I thought a man like me who have seen alot of tragedy should be able to write something worthy and tell a true story but I guess words are something mediocre will never truly understood. I had a plan that at 29 I will be one of the most eligible bachelors. An inspiration to the younger generation in Spain but at 37 I have manage to be an apprentice to old Mister Walton in the heart of London.
And I can't even do what I know how to do well. Write, the pain it takes to stare at words that are not mine spilling from my hands. Sadly those are the good days. On worst days my books are .empty. I steady my breathing as I walk past the wardon woods as I fear the evil that lurks inside it_ but I don't think I fear it, I think it reminds me of as I am now, Though it is the fastest route to my house. The English men fear the wardon woods as they say it holds untold stories. But if a man suffers from broken heart, he follows darkness Or rather passes through it.
But tonight was different walking further from it to the brothel that leads to the ghetto outskirts of London, I noticed something. Some sort of light that flashed through its trees. I stop, afraid.
"Who is there" I scream out. Instead of running, and saw a flash of something it stare at me then began to run. Inside I knew I have encountered some kind of religion my mother failed to teach me as a child. I run after the light tearing through, twigs and trees nevermind death at the edge of woods of untold stories. Just then I caught it, not with my hands but eyes I realized what I actually encountered. It was an alien body in human form. It looks like soul for it held no skin color whatsoever but still there were words written all over it.
There is a name for it in Spanish, and a story about it. My mother had call it myth, I had to myself at some point. It is a mystical creatures that hold stories that never been told. That when it dawn to me, The woods of untold stories_ but light is what we call it in Spanish because it was light and it lit the woods, it stare at me with what it called eyes and I was enchanted by all of it and I cried at it beauty especially what it held, and As if it understood me it walked over to me and stood over me like some kind of god, I touched it face and I do know I have encountered something and this is not religion. This my dear friend is spirituality, I have never been a sucker for religion or spirituality but I always know to believe in the presence of the supreme being. I felt it stories, no I felt my stories the one I refuse to write, the one that had strained away from me. for hours we stood that way until It disappear deeper into the woods. I should follow it but then even a man with darkness knows better.
I went home that night feeling awaken, and for the first time in 10 years I wrote two sentences that made sense, and when I lay on my bed I wasn't depress like I once were, I knew at that moment, such light will always be mine. I needed to safe guard it from the unruly eyes. I promise myself that I will protect it and it will be mine as much as I will be his.
© Black_Culture
