by Aloice (202494) on FR
with every breath another winding chase
his steps, metamorphosing in his wake -
his dreams, gasping and soaring as they fade -
a love that smolders, even when he cannot
quite tell where the passion is,
veiled and entangled as it has been
by the will of mythical twins.
while his face presses against wall and fabric -
while his legs wither and lose their shape -
he opens his embrace to the sun, kisses
parting the winds. The world unfolds
as the soul opens, half monster and half
valiant, daring all to challenge
that which has survived fate and Tartarus.
for now the child wakes
and cries for strawberry ice cream
rounding the corner with a strange gait
full of a laughter more radiant than the Earth.
the question only barely
gives the elderly shopkeeper pause.
"how often do you witness daybreak?"
by Whim (208039) on FR
Lids fall to young cheek
Crutches wobble
And tendons yield
Run, boy, run to the oak and the creek
Run to the end of field.
Run boy,
Run from the abyss of Nyx,
Brush the grass with your hands
Swing around the trunk and thrum the sticks.
Run until you've been reimbursed
For what millennia has taken
Go until your feeble limbs
Have gone far past being shaken.
Let the cloud take you on,
Let your legs shed their skin,
You're a work of eons
Only to end up sustained
By modern medicine?
Claim back what you had, boy!
Run until you're back.
You let Sleep take and warp you,
And yet Death still refuses to end it's extended ploy.
Fight for it, if you must,
Let sticks carry you no more.
Swing yourself into the branches in the gust,
break from this forgotten lore.
But, alas,
sleep is merely a state
And death is a cease of bodily wind.
Your limbs will wither to dust,
And cantering will be your guide.
Though know if you must:
Through all the years and steps and rides,
It will not be all for naught.
by alienjack (109272)
hypnos threads his fingers,
skeletal, slender, through your blond
hair. with his other hand, he presses
down on your eyelids. relax.
iv. there’s nothing but gusts of wind
--it’s a tornado, spinning, lifting
you into its embrace, tugging at your
clothes, your skin--
ii. the grass under your feet grows
up your ankles until it swallows your
legs up to your knees-- you just want
to run, you just want to be free--
vii. sunlight filters through the leaves
of your oak tree, dappling your skin
until you could be mistaken for a fawn.
it’s like you could just fall asleep
forever-- wait--
v. you’re missing something.
what is it that you’re missing?
iii. you’re running so fast
that the wind on your face makes you
almost forget that this is probably
just a dream--
vi. the waves are climbing, rising--
there’s a tsunami coming, cresting
high on the horizon-- run-- you can’t run--
i. it’s always
the same
tree.
wake up, tage, they say.
but hypnos doesn’t go down
so easily.
by seraphemme (181534) on FR
The grass is tall, unbowed, untamed,
Broken only by a single tree,
Here, the wind knows no shame:
It gales as it likes, laughs in my face,
And together we thrill in our game of chase
I can run as I like, and as far as I can
In this world created only for me;
It’s so clear where I’m going, what I am—
Just a traveling soul and companion oak
And the remains of the chains that I seem to have shook
I might run to the swelling waters far,
To paint the grass in dusty prints,
Or stampede along the swaths of stars
That lead me into that spinning night
Where my feet can take to astounding flight
And I might run back to the single oak
Just to think and dream and remember,
I’ll wander beneath its shady cloak
And I might remember another place
Where my legs are hopelessly wasting away
So I’ll run again, to the waters go,
And dream by the moon and the sun and the stars,
Though I can tell that somewhere around
Sleep and Death are carefully wound—
I’ll keep running yet, if only to show
That those chains of the past are forever unbound
Tage Izaak Solberg
♂ | 8 years old | December 19 (Sagittarius)
Height: 4'1/4 ft
Weight: 56 lbs.
Ethnicity: Swedish-Russian-German
Type: Human (alternatively, Centaur)
Breed: Quarter-Arabian-Thoroughbred
Blood Type: AB
Briggs-Meyers Type: ENFP
Parents: Hagan and Sanna Solberg
Siblings: Alarik Brendan and Garin Edsel
Relations: Anastasia (counterpart), Jalen and Maeve Solberg (grandparents), Dr. Ruslan & Pavel Orlov
The boy is a dreamer both by will and by fate. He does have aspirations, many that are impossible for him to achieve, yet he continues to push himself because above all else, it can be said that the most admirable of Tage Solberg's traits would be his (unmistakably unshakable, somewhat rebellious) strength of character.
Tage was diagnosed with KLS and muscular dystrophony early into his childhood years. The cruel irony would be his passion for running: at first, an exercise to reconcile for the days slumbering away in inescapable dreams, later--a testament to his potential even while burdened by crutches and episodes and whatnot. A talent, shaped by resilience and pure, absolute spirit.