Scrambled Writing

A few posts ago, I did some inspiring photos. Gwen wrote a comment:
 
"Write about the guy who tried to shoot the moon through a basketball hoop. And even though he failed it made a cool picture in the end. Write how failure is not always a bad thing. write how the dead flower fertilizes the earth and how the moon sinks into the mountains like a child into her mother's lap. Write of the moods of coffee and the essence of trees and how vibrant we are against the dark gray clouds. Write of where the moose go in the mist and of the little ball of Fire on a tower of rocks. Write of all things obscure and unthought of so we are to better understand this frenzied, material world.”

~Gwen
 And it inspired me to write amix belonging to the photos:
 

As I make my way to the net, I hear a dribble. Not from the moon, but from the sound of my beating heart. I take the moon in both of my hands and gulp as the beating stops. I hear nothing as I prepare to shoot the moon into the hoop. Then I jump. I soar into the air and at the right moment, I loose connection with the moon. I see it circle the edge of the hoop as I fall toward the earth. I watch as it rounds the edge and, t my dismay, falls out of the basket. I miss. But at least I tried. “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” So tomorrow I will try again. And if I don’t succeed, the moon will still be there the next night, waiting for me. 

Snippets of the rose

Pieces of petals and

Cuts of leaves

Tumble to the earth

Sinking into the mud,

Thick and brown,

Filling a undesirable substance

With something more radiant

Like how you cut me

Into pieces and threw me

Into the earth

And yet look where I am

Like the flowers

I fertilized the earth,

The unmanageable substance,

And made it radiant

I made you radiant

Slowly the moon is sinking into the hands of the earth, like a child to his mother's. It slips delicately behind the mountain like a shy child behind his mother. Then the moon is pushed aside, tumbling deep behind the mountain, by the shove of the sun as morning calls. Like how the child is shoved by a sibling and falls into the waiting mother's lap. The arms of the mountain hug the moon tightly as the mother embraces the child in the early morning. 

Each tree

carries a bit of magic

from when it was first planted

in the solid earth

It vibrates

from the roots,

through the trunk, through the branches

and into the tips of the leaves

very few people

see a tree.

they look

but they never see the magic of a tree

(Having the picture makes this easier to understand)

"More," Whined the first, empty mug, E.G. "I need more."

 Rather, she poured no more than a drip in the mug next to him, Drip. Drip beamed in pleasure of having any coffee at all.

 The fullest mug, F., sighed contently like the lady did whe she had a feast. Remembering his manners, F. said, "Thank you" before dozing off into a lazy sleep with a hazy dream.

 Middle, the mug half way filled with coffee, piped up "Is it time?" Middle was quite impation.

 The lady smiled a small smile and took out her camera. Holding it above the mugs, she snapped a picture of E.G., Drip, Middle and F.  

Running. They are running together. To a safer place. Th mist blinds them, like the uncertainty of the world. Their hooves like thunder. They are afraid. Afraid of what they will see when they come out of the morning mist. And what they see, is what we call the sun.

We, we don't have to worry bout nothing

'Cause we got the fire, and we're burning one h*** of a something

They, they gonna see us from outer space, outer space

Light it up, like we're the stars of the human race, human race

When the lights turned down, they don't know what they heard

Strike the match, play it loud, giving love to the world

We'll be raising our hands, shining up to the sky

'Cause we got the fire, fire, fire, yeah we got the fire fire fire

~Burn 

Her:

 "Set a fire down in my soul that I can't contain, that I can't control," I begged him. 

 He glanced away and shook his head. I tried to meet his gaze, but he adverted his eyes. 

 "A tiny spark can set a great forest on fire," he said in reply. 

 "Please," I whispered one more time. All he did was shake his head.

Him:
She looked at me with a begging look in her eyes, "Set a fire down in my soul that I can't contain, that I can't control," She plead. 
I quickly looked away. She knew what would happen, to her and to me, and yet she still wanted me to do this.
I thout about my words before I spoke, "A tiny spark can set a great forest on fire."
"Please," she plead for the last time. Her voice was barely audible. I just shook my head.

Grey clouds. Thunder booming. Skies darkening. People fleeing. Except one. She stays frozen in the mist of chouos. Her bright shirt. Illuminates against eh gloomy, looming sky. "Stop!" She commands, her voice louder than the thunder. And the sky listens.