The Rift

The floor is pulling apart, a rift growing, beneath us the past looks on helplessly. Concealed in cages the keys are within our grasp. Instead of reaching we search each other with our eyes, stares that say too much. The growth dividing and the paths diverging, galloping along lonesome roads departing from what used to be. The noises come muffled from the other side of the chasm, words spinning endlessly into night. Perpetual murmurs sliding down the cavernous walls. The laterns flicker with hope of redemption but the winds make them dance dangerously on the verge of extinguishing. Cradling the remains of forgotten memories, the cloud's smiles leak acid rain. The gears grinding to a halt, the cogs of the machine lurching to a standstill. Squared off in a circle of tradition, eyeing the patterns that created our world, wind shaped mountains changing slowly, the forces that surround us exerting their will, forcing things to be different. Standing steadfastly it doesn't stop, we are not in control, the rivers carving into the eart, the rocks shifting, the continents drift apart.

whatever....