What A Tragedy

The dissonance with its diaphanous dialect, summoned the dormant menace no longer dreaming, to rise from a bed of warm and wet yellow, orange and brown large leaves. Pine needles permeated throughout a silent congregation of soaring giants—barked skin, and still with leafless limbs. His naked and trembling body, glistened with sweat and reflected the soft glow of the dawn, levitated and circled aimlessly then remained in motion in the figure of eight. And as his toes scraped against stones,twigs and leaves, an owl perched in the distance, watched. A murder of crows scattered as they screeched and squawked. As the cacophony preluded the somnolence in the symphony, a Sphinx in the distance, covered in miles of hot oblivious sands, hummed a delicate melody that tried with no avail to escape the depths therein.

 

Nearby ran gently a cool creek cutting through old rocks and moss, small colorful birds ribboned in ballet amid the darkling thrush and against the soft blue heavens, they chirped and chimed madly like tiny silver bells being swallowed by the feral jaws of a place beyond the pines. These elegant throes with their indomitable woes, beckoned, pleaded and pulled…

 

And the ensemble of the earth, with its visceral arrangement, veiled with its celestial verse, set the stage of praise for an unsung Oedipus who knew the long, the everlong awaited words.

 

And the Sphinx, forgotten, and altogether absurd, in another time, perhaps—in another world—in all that darkness, managed to finally see…the riddle answered and thus quite simply:

 

What a tragedy that would be.

 

To have died without me.

∞