i remember the forest with trees of emeralds and peridot, and the children of the moon, the inhabitants of the tree filled land. they danced under the soft light of the orb, their pale, blueish skin shifting colours ever so often. they danced with an unspoken rhythm, their legs pirouetting, twirling, leaping, so effortlessly. they said nothing when they danced for the yellow round, but their steps were like a story, you could see it in their eyes as they frolicked in the grass, an intense fire, a loose gaze. they each held a different perspective, and as they gambolled, their movements would create a different expression.
they held blades when they danced, not blades of grass, but silver blades of the moon, the metallic sheen unreal. it was not of the earth, for it was prismatic under the moonlight. they were much less dancing than they were fighting, but it was yet so enticing to see. sometimes, i felt pity for myself for spying in a hollowed tree to see the mythical epics, but i couldn't look away. they riddled a conundrum with their cut throat battles, something so undesirable, yet had a charm to it, i was allured to the sight of their battles, misinterpreting them as a dance of some kind. nevertheless, they never saw me, their eyes were locked on their opponent.
the children of the moon only came out on nights where the moon could fully see them, only on full moons. they never were seen in broad daylight, it was as if their translucent bodies had evaporated in the heat of the sun. but when the moon was large and yellowed, they appeared when the sun had fully set, their knives sharpened, ready to drive the blade in the other's soul. but they never drew blood, only a silvery liquid that flowered, when it reached the ground. it was like mercury, but when they were gone, the flowers remained. i used to pick them, hoping to make it into a garland of silver petals.
the forest of gems was beautiful, but the children of the moon were never forever, on the twenty third full moon i had saw them, the shorter sliced the other's chest open, crying a warrior's shout as the blade tore threw skin. it was short lived, and the shorter seemed to have no feelings about the other as the flowers on the ground kept on growing, becoming a field of silver blossoms on the grassy floors. the body was left there, and it never evaporated in the daylight, golden bones lying in the sun with a beautiful dagger in the ribcage. the killer moon child often visited to pay respects, but there was no regret in the soul, for there were no feelings left.
such was a heartbreak .
they held blades when they danced, not blades of grass, but silver blades of the moon, the metallic sheen unreal. it was not of the earth, for it was prismatic under the moonlight. they were much less dancing than they were fighting, but it was yet so enticing to see. sometimes, i felt pity for myself for spying in a hollowed tree to see the mythical epics, but i couldn't look away. they riddled a conundrum with their cut throat battles, something so undesirable, yet had a charm to it, i was allured to the sight of their battles, misinterpreting them as a dance of some kind. nevertheless, they never saw me, their eyes were locked on their opponent.
the children of the moon only came out on nights where the moon could fully see them, only on full moons. they never were seen in broad daylight, it was as if their translucent bodies had evaporated in the heat of the sun. but when the moon was large and yellowed, they appeared when the sun had fully set, their knives sharpened, ready to drive the blade in the other's soul. but they never drew blood, only a silvery liquid that flowered, when it reached the ground. it was like mercury, but when they were gone, the flowers remained. i used to pick them, hoping to make it into a garland of silver petals.
the forest of gems was beautiful, but the children of the moon were never forever, on the twenty third full moon i had saw them, the shorter sliced the other's chest open, crying a warrior's shout as the blade tore threw skin. it was short lived, and the shorter seemed to have no feelings about the other as the flowers on the ground kept on growing, becoming a field of silver blossoms on the grassy floors. the body was left there, and it never evaporated in the daylight, golden bones lying in the sun with a beautiful dagger in the ribcage. the killer moon child often visited to pay respects, but there was no regret in the soul, for there were no feelings left.
such was a heartbreak .
