The land of the lost place its name as Hope
Yet its people have wandered looking for their voice
For without a voice, how can the soul cry out its agonies?
----------------------------------------
"I've spent 49 nights calling on Peter Pan to bring me home"
The nights were always lived by me and me only, they tell a different story than those of the days. They hold the torment in the air leaving me to suffocate trying to free myself from the ache. That is why I run to the abyss, my home. The abyss holds no voice and carries no weight over my head: In here, I can never hung on the rope.
"BOLA"
Another occurrence of my name presented to you here.
The people had a fire that they spew to me whenever they would screech my name.
The fire never burned kindly. The fire in me is burning my bones, melting the muscles, nipping at my nerves. Its rages spread through the back of my spine to the tip of my nose. On these days, I could fly. It wasn't just a feeling that I could fly. I could fly: the anger rose from the heat of the fire shaking my bones. I would gain momentum each time but suppressed it because I needed to launch off to fly out of here. I did not come from the line of the Phoenix; I will not rise from these ashes, hence, I must fly.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
"BOLA!"
...
My wandering mind with these thoughts and critiques lead me to spend an hour and a quarter stuck on my stare. I write it here as I've written before, but now I'll redact any that comes more.
...
The need to call a third shout struck a chord in the mother and so another line was drawn in the space holding the 'number of reasons why' in Bola's abyss field. Bola will be the one hearing the impact of the this incident, so no need for another tragic day to be written in detail.
Nothing could have marked the upcoming turmoil. Not even Bola had a tingling sensation announcing those days lain ahead. Days that would ease her troubled heart and lay her arms to rest. She would no longer have to fly, now she only needs to sáré.
----------------------------------------
CALLING THE WANDERING CHILD
Ọmọ, wọn pè yin
Come home
There lies nothing in that vast field of life you see
Nothing but flowers, trees and weed
Nothing but insects, worms and snakes
Nothing but hares, lions and humans
Ọmọ mi, come back home
They will not run with you
Ọmọ mi