darkened mist of
flapping cicada wings;
Swarming with clicking,
ticking drums of doubt,
of regret, of fear, of brokenness.
The darkened mist begins to swell,
boiling hot in the challenger's eyes;
cracking dulled spears,
melting menacing chains,
bending the blades of swords,
exploding those fucking cicadas
and the god awful flapping of their wings,
shattering those clicking, ticking drums.
Crucible stone cracks and crumbles
into dust that is swept away by
winds once repressed by
those stone walls.
That bloodied water,
now in a silent, clouded
puddle.
The eyes hold their gaze,
still covered by a bloodied glaze.
A droplet of darkened mist
touches from both sides:
Earth and sky.
The challenger raises their view
to a horizon free from stone,
to an outstretched field
and the puddle shrinks away.
"You are free, my dear.
Starting today."
