Flashes of darkness in the already night sky, connect the dots of the black and let it be your picture. These liquid features of millions that walk among us, shaping the world in features to delicate for the aware and observant. A religion in avoiding meaning, built on temples of fear. These are the elusive elite, struggling for their power for their safe haven of the unavoidable, and unheard of. Hiding in the space left between the ignorant and the unaware.

The work of some that should have attended, whenever the timeline, these shadows are cast behind the most obvious. Subtle and well hidden, smiling eyes and well trained pleasantries. Glass eyes and infra glow street lamps, evasive jerking behind black alley dumpsters. Ominous shadows towards the “Lurk”, working the machine of the festering darkness. The elusive run the show of what you don’t see, and works the spot light on someone else rather than itself. It is a complete orchestra of silent drummers which wait till you are out of the room to play. Theirs are the pitches and octaves that sink through your floorboards and carry on into the basement.

At night, my eyes are often greeted by the ever elusive. No proof do I need to tell you that this night’s shadows are out for my cursing and patience as I have lost a good time and much dignity devoted to the capture of any face to go with the ghouls whom run past the corners of my eyes. Male joggers in blue track suits? What ever the case, it’s strong enough to notice, but too evasive to talk about. These mysteries that shroud human cautiousness, allow for the sudden differences, that’s it was there, even more, that it might come back.

The indescribable and very discrete, subtle and ever elusive, ghosts… behind the mirrors and beasts behind the night. Finger pullers behind my flesh and soul behind my eyes. Barren wastelands behind this earth, and pain between the lives, death behind the drowning marred by freedom. Laughter follows falling into ever after, until the end of time.
Glass shadows dance through the night, still I don’t see, the army of countless “Always were.” Remain out of sight.

Fall. 1
“Look at the way that tree bends, it almost grows back into itself”
“Who are you talking to?”
We are in the woods, a little before dark, overlooking the valley of mankind’s mischievous web, backs against a moist pile of wood pulp that might have been a tree once, staring from just inside the entrance of the forest dwell, orchestrating our minds to the rhythm of space, we are the creation and destruction of time itself.
“What an uncomforting absence when it is time to go back,” I realize. There is no greater pain than to live life as a lie, “Surely, when it is time, I don’t think I will be prepared.”
“You ever wonder if they stopped to realize that they don’t exist?” He motioned a nod towards a distant car stopping at a red light. “You ever wonder who’s pulling the strings for these motionless bastards?”
“You can tear them open, but I don’t understand the circuits…..”


Winter.1
Everything, the peak of the furthest mountain north, between the above where the dark sky haze looms grey anxiety, to the below where the fog rivers shine milky paths, paths where the heaven is the storm gate to the shining after sky, milk paths where only giants could walk. The mushroom crystal landscape glistened wintered seasons with a golden glow, and everything set upright against the horizon shined. The pale frozen air lay down silent still and cold, as stars in the sky, there was nothing, no activities.

Summer.1
“Frostbite, it was cold enough in the winter,” I wondered why he brought it up now, under the blistering orb of fire. “But it might pose a bit of trouble getting frostbite now.”
“I meant, if the sun wasn’t there, you ever wonder if time would change.”
“You can’t go about everything in hyptheticals but, I suppose time wouldn’t change.” Just then, I thought about the eternally frozen picture of earth, the impenetrable darkness that follows. I imagine the countless things that never mattered, the limitless wonders that were never mentioned. “You think it matters anyway?”
“I don’t think, it won’t matter,” He sighed, “Eventually we will be together, and constant.” I noticed his unwavering defiance in his life, he was much more relaxed as he slowly showed signs of more morbid things to come. He leaned over and with the slightest whisper he said “One of these days, I’m going to harvest you body, and trap your soul.” I wondered what it meant when he said it, but I could not get past the cold stare, it is as if he had a solid, unchanging grip on the reality of being itself. I tried not to move as I focused on his breathing that palpitated with the churning movements of the windy tree tops above, his hands were gnarled and seamed to reach beyond the stars. His eyes poured blue sky rain that soaked still to the blood covered earth, a violent act exclaimed that life was played out, like an over done magic trick, until the fading out of light. We would be linked to the deranged and very anti social, forgotten about or labeled as lunatics, lunatics who were created in god’s own image, constantly reminding each other to forget. Lunatics of gods creation.

Fall.2
“This is the only way to get out.” He exclaimed, “There is only agony in dragging it on.” He was a valued friend to me, dealing with this terminal spirit disease of ours; I knew that none of us really had too much of a choice. He clearly did not have any anger left in him, his voice was sad and without meaning, each day worsened to the point were I sometimes would look into his dead blue eyes and with the radiant sun shining, he sits still, mourning.
“One thing they didn’t tell me, is that I could never go back,” That was one thing I would always keep as regret, “They told that the seed would grow, but they failed to mention the lack of space it would have for the future.”
“The flaw to existence is contradicting possibilities…”
He seamed intelligent while he spoke and looked as wise when he sat silent. The intentions of his grew mutual as we learned to live together, I understood the primal truths to the wild at first, but later I began to forget.

Winter.2
The glacial frostbitten paths layer the unwelcoming warmth associated with light. There was a hospital at the top of the hill, with a brimming lighthouse shining down on all valleys in the descending horizon, as the house of man was constructed, so the forest under it was destroyed. And under the house on the hill lie the hidden mark of man, black and infested. The sky was pale and red as the frostbitten mountains exist barren and desolate. The lush green was withering, coinciding with the expanding poison that man created. Storms of the oceans bordered the lands, leviathans anger drowned the children of the coast, with a force to proud to power turbines. Black clouds shrouded life to the enticed desire of suffering. As hail stoned to death the fragile wonders of nature, chariots of thunder dissolved into a thousand beating drums surging chaos, vexed in poly streams of violent lightning strikes, as molten earth began to fall from the sky.

Summer.2
"Hey, can you hear me?" I wasn’t getting anything out of him anymore, it seams as more and more days went on, the more shallow my friends mind was getting. Even the most primitive actions seamed to cease, I was trying desperately to get him back on track, but it was all in vain. "I said CAN YOU HEAR ME?!"
"Even…odd…..this…..and that..." Scrambled messages left his mouth without meaning. I could see he wasn’t their anymore, and after all those years, this time "they" have taken him away, I guess, thank god that boy was not alone….
Fall.3
I lay in the dirt, encased by the black shadows cast around me from autumn fir of the coniferous nature. Time numbed my arms and legs as my eyes grew tired and my head sank shut. He was shoveling with blankest of eyes, slowly in a jerking motion; it looked to me like he wasn’t alive anymore. His shovel stabbed the skies angels who sat in blissful obscurity atop floating clouds, and oh how he toiled, violent and cruel, shoveling them into the furnace of dead souls. From off the pedestal, into the inferno, I sat from the nearby shadows, watching the flames jump higher, and louder, hell’s wrath in all of its glory.
Spring.2
So the Earth was folded up, the sky and the landscape, blues and greens, folded into each other and was packed into a box kept secret from the light. And all the people and places that once were, disappeared inside of the box. The game was put away, when no body was left to play, and all the vast landscapes of skies, all put their for all those who’ve died, all the beautiful varieties of life collected into their spot, and no one was conscious enough to witness the small steel box at the end of their ropes, each one of them was dragged by their strings… back into the box. Dragged from the finish, back to the start….

the potential for great imagery, but there's a sense of rambling and plodding along that left me sort of confused as to what point you were getting at, if there was one.,,are they snippets from a short story, the start of several different stories?

perhaps focus on one idea and work on it until it reads more smoothly, and then elaborate on the idea...put all that imagery into a work of consistant thought, adding a theme would make it, less confusing.