mystery in reality

Phantom…   The obscurity of oneself, to hide behind false looks, to exist by just appearance, hollow on the inside. Phantom pain forming a delusion and an illusion of false existence. No a creation of a one sided retribution, one side to a coin. Phantom vision, something elusive or visionary, the visual prowess to see what’s not seen or to only see what can be seen… He sighed in frustration. The woods where getting darker and so was the outcome of his hallow torch. And yet he had no clues to the riddle on the stone floor. Only to beat around the bush with his thoughts as the riddle played with his mind, progressing in wasting more time. The man in the town warned him of the night time, and now he could see why. The forest looked as if it was being devoured by the hungry night, waking the beasts of the night to crawl out from their nook and cranny. What started as a journey in search of a myth, now seemed like a possibility of a true finding, as the puzzles and riddles became more c...

 Before the wind blew the morrow, a place where animosity and vulnerability lurked obscured some occurrences. One of those was the sky falling, in a fraction of a seed into the circumference of the shallows strictly bent on its purpose. If this is meant to happen, it will breath. Left with choices, it becomes a number two (2). There is no safer haven. This place is called several names, for reasons forbidden to be stated. ~ Parchments somersaulting to the summit of decentralised connotations before posing as a system recognised as deceit (de seed). Bloom like a Rose breaking the law of attraction. It's beauty bolder than a rock, with no actual comparison  to a Daffodil. ~ There is no beginning to this end. One day that flower is going to become a tree. Oh! So she thought... An experience in all nomenclatures, with stems well rooted in the waves of stapled emotions. Still it never felt soo bad to think like a flower. The blanket of nature has never gone a day without dancing. F...

  A dirge…   A narrative symphony caught her off guard and left her in silence as a song played slowly in her midst. Secrets buried from all over the world now uncovered by the wind, transformed into songs that revealed secrets of men and women, telling stories of their success in its truest colors and it was no rainbow. The wind transformed slowly and majestically, until it took a form, then it began to dance. The wind splashed out all around, revealing shades grey, black and white as plain as it could be, enough to portray the true nature of man. Its dance growing wild to match the secrets untold, the truth hidden and twisted, tales of great people but who were the true villains of the past. But made heroes out of false stories. There was no telling of what the presence of the wind meant, or what was behind the spirit of the wind. But she was unbothered by those questions and watched silently as the wind danced to portray the songs it played. Her mind was clustered b...