Creative Writing - Prose



As the twilight faded we stared into the sky searching for the unmistakable moment of zen. Though we did not know and never had before, we were certain we would recognize this sacred time when it occurred. Perhaps we were fools to think so, or perhaps we were dreamers who forgo hazy images and dream in vibrant technicolor. No one knew, or bothered to find out. What was the purpose, the message, the point of it all? Was there one? Where we waiting on an ancient superstition from a long forgotten imagination? This age old wisdom still found in the cracks, the crevasses, and darkened corners not afraid to be. Their fear is to have been. To no longer be. Yet, these thoughts and fears are not singular to them. They do not hoard them away in caves like a dragon’s treasure. These are things to share, and unfortunately they do. With me, with you, with everyone in some form or another. Perhaps that is the purpose, the message, the point of it all. A subtle touch like the brush of a lone cat whisker upon a deeper flesh.

Copyright © Drew Martin 2016


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