Necropolis

At dawn and dusk the sun and moon appear. Garish and defined against the indistinct surroundings, gleaming like eyes in a flawless complexion. We walk alone, unaccounted for. We make mistakes in life, in death. And then suddenly, what was once on either side is now side by side. Like crosses on the skyline, a memorial to ourselves, or a rising tower, a monument; standing alone amongst yesterday’s tears, rising out of a forbidden mist to claim its crown of sunlight. Towering above the meagre bushes below, which bury their faces in shame. By night it glows with warmth. By dawn it stands as king; an imaginary, dreamlike freedom. And how small we seem. So petty and insignificant. The divisions between us melt as the mist falls away around our feet, as though it had been cast from heaven; as we, someday, shall be.

And then it bows its head, becoming once more submerged by mist as another sinner falls from God – and is forgotten. Behind silken veils of translucent radiance and hidden beauty, it seems to near, so part of our world and yet is inaccessible, forever out of reach.

We cannot live by dreams alone, but exist with our hopes in sight, overshadowing our days, watching our every move. Then the surrounding hills pierce the veil of mist, and the monument’s magnificence is rendered insignificant – till dawn.

And we are left to retrace the steps until we can find somewhere from which we may begin again.