In The Orient
by Bluesy Socrateaser on Wed Mar 04, 2009 4:57 am
Rice paper doorways glow with the faintest light. Shadows play to a chorus
of throaty bamboo flutes. I was the happiest with her.
They called it war.
I called it love.
They said we would win, so I never lost. They ordered me to leave her...
And I did.
Afterwards, and still, I feel her. I know that the heart really bleeds.
That it's not just a figment of love, but the most vital instrument of life itself.
I'd do it all again.
The fear, the sounds of night exploding, and the killing, if I could hold her once more...and die in love.
of throaty bamboo flutes. I was the happiest with her.
They called it war.
I called it love.
They said we would win, so I never lost. They ordered me to leave her...
And I did.
Afterwards, and still, I feel her. I know that the heart really bleeds.
That it's not just a figment of love, but the most vital instrument of life itself.
I'd do it all again.
The fear, the sounds of night exploding, and the killing, if I could hold her once more...and die in love.