Thursday, January 12, 2012

So it Goes

This is part of an ongoing short story I have been working on.  It is a bit of dream interpretation and a bit of James Joyce style flow of consciousness writing.  I am not sure this is something I would ever want to publish as the psychological analysts would realize I am nuts.

Aloysius was long alone in the land, sometimes broken some strong.  These the tame lands of Nicene's sway, only an audience he sought.  Not to marvel of the bright land wrought nor of noble lesson to be taught.  Aloysius was a seeker a suitor though worn and simple spun.

He Imagined himself Hercules to beg trials and win loves hand.  But that was only painted tales, not for the real and true.  He would see Nicene everywhere and none, though mostly in sleep. And in time he would see awake, not bleary or inward, but sober of here and now.

It was not won, nor of Aloysius made, but near chance Nicene summoned the wanderer to her side.  He would rush heart overflown and she would wash him with something like love.  Still in this something lay wrong at the core.  Something immutable as ages splitting them far in twain.

Even resolved, father and family looked upon Aloysius seeing true he and I were poorly made.  Only longing was there more.  Nicene was the other have not of Aloysius but the self he longed to be.

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