So This Is Living

 

alisa rynay haller

“So This is Living”

“So this is living in Death” the dark haired beauty whispers to the gentle winter breeze, as she kneels onto the snow covered ground near the frozen river and begins to cry, her wings the color of raven’s tears, wings she didn’t have yesterday, slowly envelope her as she covers her face with her hands, the tears she sheds are the color of  blood, and chrystalize before hitting the ground,leaving rubies in the snow.
“So this is living in War” the copper tressed woman rages at the winter gale, as she too kneels on the snowy ground, stabbing her sword into the frozen earth and begins to cry, her wings the color of horse blood, wings she didn’t have yesterday, flare out as her tears of rage crystalize before hitting the ground, covering the snow with flowers that resemble the faces of the children she has slaughtered.

“So this is living in Shame” the pale haired woman cries to the harsh winter winds, as she kneels next to the others, and she too drops to the snowy ground, and cannot cry, her wings the color of a scalpel, wings she didn’t have yesterday, simply droop where they are, and one tear escapes her forlorn face, it chrystalizes before hitting the ground, leaving a frozen half formed fetus in the snow.

“So this is dying in Hope” the hairless woman prays to the haunting winter air, and she too kneels into the frozen snow, her wings are gone, the wings she had yesterday before the last of the radiation treatments, and she fears to cry lest the cancer spreads and kills the hibernating ground.

“So this is dying in Life” the older grey haired women rasps to the winter’s stillness as she kneels in the frozen snow and lays her notebook down, her wings are translucent, wings she didn’t have yesterday, at least she doesn’t remember them until now, and she hangs her head to cry and has no memory of why, her tears chrystalize before hitting the ground, and she remembers not where they came nor what they are.

“So this Is” the shimmering woman breathes into the winter landscape, her wings the colors of a thousand flying creatures, wings she has had since before the dawn of man, open up so wide they could engulf nations, and all of the penitents gather under her angelic wings, seeking refuge, as fleeting as it may be, if only to forget for a moment.

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