As the mellow glow of dusk died, many cerulean clad slyphs gathered their silken brushes to dance and decorate a new twilight canvas. Clashes and embossed slashes of cobalt and seafoam gathered together affectionately clutching at each other's hands like effervescent school girls singing hushed gossip from their ever-polished lips. God’s golden tears cramming violently into unsuspecting corners. Troves of glistening treasure hidden in plain sight.

A honeyed chorus of the wind’s aria draped itself over the velvet loam and ashen mountaintops, viciously sashaying and shimming itself onto the vacant stages of slumbering valleys, through the invisible cracks of warped window frames and balconies to usher in surreal pictures and notions to militia of aimless dreamers.

Drenched in hues of mystery and midnight the phantom hummingbirds circle the sagely seasoned clapper in the chapel’s steeple. Begging for a tale of times lost at the bottom of the time frozen town’s hourglass. A tender steady clang strong enough once to send chills through the forest’s spine, remained mute.

Deaf was the bell to all, deaf would the bell remain forever.

Delicate filigrees along the moon’s skin bled its luminance down, caking the neglected creases along horizon’s hairline. Rolling gamblers’ loaded dice on Dawn’s inevitable rebirth. How Fate and Chance would give the slyphs just a few more fracture star shard dust to paint their twilight masterpiece this night.

A beauty the no common eye would gaze, a museum for the voiceless, the sightless, and tasteless.

Amanda Tudisco

Attempting to achieve a written legacy

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