Whispers fell heavy like steel whiskers from the unkempt face of death staring knowingly into the eyes of a fool. “Hush my silent partner,” speaks his majesty with empathy unbeknownst but to her sons and daughters. In pieces on the ground lies another downed flying machine once destined for a dreamer’s paradise. A pair of dice is all she found shaken by the cursed sound of dinner bells and wedding rolls lulling her to sleep.
“I’m never letting go,” he cries with tenderness in his eyes adjusting the reception of her voice. Yet one by one the cake tiers crumble just as they begin to think they understand the mysteries of God. After all it’s really not the time nor place nor proper space to pull a piece of produce from that tree. There are still too many branches to be burned and ashes to be earned and dust to turn up from the cold november ground. As hopeless as it all may seem, those silver wings have been redeemed for one day giving flight to suffering’s wages.
“If perfect love casts out all fear than fear’s got nothing on me this year,” laughs the fool who knows to whom he’s bound. Together they embrace the face of death and dive into the deepest places as they kiss it all goodbye.