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Glassy Entourage

by Pompadour


I think this is prose poetry, but I don't really know. =P

***

There's a spyglass made of hazel eyes and it sits on my old desktop, singing a tune that it never manages to keep in rhythm. It peers through me so I can see the sky, like crushed M & Ms someone suspended in a bowl of soup and dripped wads of icing over. I glide through the glass and wade through the viscous rivers, walking and stumbling and tripping like I'm on a tightrope but I'm not afraid to fall.

If you cracked an egg in the sky you'd see its yolk dripping and painting the sky a dappled yellow-gold. Plaster a star-sticker to the sky's cape and you could watch the sun flicker and then shine brighter and just keep on shining. Sprinkle stardust through the silent moors and watch the dawns fade, watch the constellations smile down at you and write letters to the world that they seal in gold and fling like a green-glass bottle into its ocean depths. But the bottles crack before they reach us and the ink washes away to a mass of sooty tears so we'll never know what it is that they want to say.

I hum a metallic test-tube song and the sky synchronizes with my voice so the clouds hang around me and I run my hands through their crystallized substance. I'm carried away by the infrared waves of the horizons and seep into the melody and the tangible sense of unreality that parades through me. The doves brush past my atmospheric perch and carry me even higher; and I'm just so lost I don't even remember where I began.

My head is an attic of odds and ends I hold onto, living in the old-fashioned perfume dusts and creaky pendulum mood-swings. I harness the stars and sew them on my turquoise sleeves, riding them like reins to a sky-sled, but with every passing second I can feel myself growing tired. The magnetism hurls through me -past me, and I'm too late to realize that the sky and the land are one, and the constellations have been whispering to me this whole time, telling me that every adventurer must return home to an ending- to a warm, fuzzy closure.
When I think of endings, I think of cookies and hugs. But I open my eyes and the coldness seems to be drawn through my irises and into my brain. I'm frustrated, and I listen to the sounds of the ocean, yelling out to them until my lungs deflate and I fall. There are no glass bottles here; no letters, no constellations to console me.

I cry, because I'm tired of being strong and pretending to be brave. I want to fly, because my insides are like hollow caverns. I want to dream again, and walk hand in hand with a fellow dreamer through these tightrope wanders. And the tears fall, so they rub the dust off my wooden soul. An unseen emotion spins cobwebs inside me and each intricately woven thread is asking me a million questions, but I think this is a paradox that is better left unsolved.

I hear the music knock at my door and when I open it I can feel myself drowning. You send me a smile and I believe it is you who has taught me that smiles are inverted helium balloons that float on your face in an upside-down sway. But the thing with helium balloons is that they always float to the sky, no matter what.
I smile back at you and the helium carts me away for a spin through the stars.

I'm a lightweight sail-ship coursing on, higher and higher, and as we sprint through the sky I can't feel the glass walls around me anymore. And I don't notice the spyglass that lies shattered by my windowsill for the remainder of the night. For it you who will escort me now, on our own Hubble telescope; our space shuttle made from old milk-cartons we never threw away.

So let's fly, dear Imagination. Let's fly.

And we'll dream of hazel spyglasses tonight.


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Thu Jan 09, 2014 2:38 pm
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TimmyJake wrote a review...



The TJ here for a review!!

Ok, so this piece was really cool. You always seem to have such colorful metaphors in your work, so as to entrance the reader! :d Nice work!! I have a few nitpicks, and I will just lay them out for you....

If you cracked an egg in the sky you'd see its yolk dripping and painting the sky a dappled yellow-gold. --I think that would work better if you replaced and with a comma.


Sprinkle stardust through the silent moors and watch the dawns fade, watch the constellations smile down at you and write letters to the world that they seal in gold and fling like a green-glass bottle into its ocean depths. --That should be two sentences.


I'm carried away by the infrared waves of the horizons and(I think that would work better there) seep into the melody and the tangible sense of unreality that parades through me.


I think those are my only critiqueing for you on this piece! You really do have a wonderful imagination, putting these metaphors perfectly on this piece. Yes, lets fly, Imagination. Because without that, you would not have written this piece. You are very talented, no matter if you decide not to sleep. ;)
~Timmyjake




Pompadour says...


Thanks so much, Tim! I'll look over the piece, and edit accordingly. And it's not like I choose not to sleep. I just have the occasional insomniac fit is all. ^_^



timmyjake says...


Haha... ok! :D



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Thu Jan 09, 2014 10:51 am
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Wisteria wrote a review...



Hello Pompadour, SubtleSanity here for a review!

My dear, may I see you have a splendid mind and a knack of imagery because everything, I mean everything, every word here is beautiful and comes alive beneath your words. This whole piece, in my opinion just speaks and depicts a wonderful reading experience, almost like a stream of consciousness really. I can't find any faults with this in terms of grammar, probably because my grammatical skills are almost non-existent but I shall comment on your content, which is fantastic!

There's a spyglass made of hazel eyes and it sits on my old desktop, singing a tune that it never manages to keep in rhythm.[/quote

Wonderful opening line! A spyglass made of hazel eyes, what a unique and clever little simile! Ah, a broken and intermittent tune just adds to its beauty.

If you cracked an egg in the sky you'd see its yolk dripping and painting the sky a dappled yellow-gold. Plaster a star-sticker to the sky's cape and you could watch the sun flicker and then shine brighter and just keep on shining.


Oh, that is such a magical passage, you have a very active imagination and amazing adjectives to describe exactly what you want. Like dapple yellow-gold, and cracking an egg in the sky? :D That's probably the most amusing metaphor I've read!

I don't need to go on about the rest now, do I? You know what I think, so I shall praise you on your ending that just wraps up this whole story in a watercolour of splendour.

So let's fly, dear Imagination. Let's fly.



And we'll dream of hazel spyglasses tonight.


It resounds with the opening line and sums up to the whole story, you really have a talent with words and imagery! May your imagination continuing to soar and fly!

-SubtleSanity




Pompadour says...


Thanks for the review! :D




There is a difference between being poor and being broke: broke is temporary; poor is eternal.
— Robert Kiyosaki