by June 7, 2014 0 comments

The music of the soul is gone.

I do not sleep at night for I recall my father’s curse, and wonder if it’s buried in my genes, ensconced in DNA on a chromosome of doom, the invisible microcosm of my wounded brain, coming into being and emerging from the bestial womb of fate.

The music of the soul is gone.

I do not sleep at night, for I remember my father’s deaths, and wonder if I share his destiny. He died twice, and his first death took him to a desolate place-a terrible landscape, and then the island of oblivion, the final resting place of his dissolving past.

The music of the soul is gone.

I can’t forget what happened to him-to us. I watched him disappear; his dark brown eyes stared blankly into space, and I mourned for him. He was gone; his old familiar face a ghostly visage in a vacant universe, devoid of self and ancient memories.

At night, I no longer hear the music of the soul, only the thumping and pounding of my heart. I fear my father’s curse. I fear oblivion.

editors note:

We can’t shake it. Yet, still we seek a wizard with perfect power. – mh

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