In The Shadow of Knowledge


Basking in the yellow glow emerging from a grim projector, a man raises his sinister hand in a motion that smothers the pace of time.. .  .  .    .    .    .    .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .                .                .                .                .                .    a    p r o c l a m a t i o n . .. death of pure reason. Those in confrontation with his mind are drawn into his eyes. They were tradespeople. They deal in knowledge. All sense of preservation sinking into the quicksand of his mythical declaration, the demands of individual careers are forgotten… a battleground of some sort emerges from the shadows of their well structured statements. Ancient monsters battling still… fields drenched with blood and gore of tender creatures… fierce! Ferocious! Terrifying! Brutal!. . . .. .. .. … … …. …. pure reason
This lasted for an immeasurable moment… horrified tradesmen of knowledge stood in the front-line…
Far in the deepest reaches of the horizon a singular entity stood unimpressed. The shadow of sacred, she was beautiful beyond measure… her lips drenched with blood…. her hands holding a golden chalice… filled by streams of blood from the fields…

Time starts catching up and the man’s sinister hand falls down. The declaration has been made.


    1. I think, dear angel in the dust, the flame sometimes needs dry stuff… so that the fire doesn’t go out.
      Thank you for reading and for your words.
      Much love.

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