Ash and Forest: A Duet of Impulse and Fantasy
Flames rising from the depths of ash, and prayers echoing in the silent forest.
Two contrasting worlds quietly resonate within the words.
──When you open that door, the poem begins.
Inspired by the music and works I love, I have gathered here two pieces sublimated into words.
The heat and destructive flames of "Gachiakuta."
The decadence and fantastical prayer of Cöshnié's "MAISIE."
Two worlds that seem contradictory, yet resonate with each other somewhere.
I hope that their impulses and fantasies will faintly call out to each other within the vessel of poetry,
and touch your silence.
◇ "Flames Lit in the Ruins"
The city was filled with the sound of dead bells.
Collapsed rubble piled up like fate,
and dust danced up into the wind,
melting into the gray canopy covering the sky.
It was not a paradise.
A world where everyone threw away their dreams,
and forced the husks of their desires upon each other as "trash."
Yet, at the bottom of that stench──
there was still a smoldering flame.
If you listen closely, you can hear it.
A scream like that of a ghost.
The memory of that night, when we spoke of justice
while simultaneously casting someone aside, echoes.
It was not a judgment, but a chorus of curses.
Even so, it was the voice of one who could not abandon prayer.
The flame is not merely heat.
The anger twisting deep within the chest,
the unforgivable wish held alongside sin,
it rises, turning everything into fuel.
Crimson black, pale blue,
as if twisting shadow and light together──
the ruins become a theater,
and the dead streetlights turn into spotlights.
The one standing there is the cleaner, Acta.
Grabbing the truth from a mountain of dust,
The reality stained with the scent of blood,
The one who transforms it into the colors of illusion.
──The curtain rises.
The more you resist, the more you are bound,
The more you scream, the more you are ignored,
And yet, your fist still tears through the air.
Treading on ashes, wiping away tears,
Carving your existence as a 'flame'.
Darkness is not eternal.
Illusion does not end in a dream.
The flame sprouting from the depths of the ashes,
Is the light that heralds a new prologue.
◇ 'The Laughing Moon, The Praying Forest ─ MAISIE's Chains'
The forest was deep, and the silence was drenched in green.
The night air is pregnant with prayer, and nameless emotions sway at the bottom of a spiral.
Light is rejected, and only shadows flicker like a festival.
──A voiceless voice whispers.
It is the poison of petals, an intoxication akin to a dream.
The soul that touches it melts in an instant, embracing loneliness and craving while
surrendering itself to the joy of falling.
The moon, drenched in crimson, dyed the forest rose-colored.
The green witch smiles.
Sweetly, cruelly.
That smile turns prayer inside out, transforming life into a single petal.
"Laugh"
"Pray"
"Sink"
──A chorus resembling both a curse and a blessing tears through the night, and the phantom light falls like silver sand.
Resistance is not permitted.
Refusal is not forgiven.
That voice becomes a seductive chain,
binding the soul, and eventually, pulling it under.
When the thorns of loneliness fall away, one finally understands.
This is not fear.
──It is relief.
Only when wrapped in the embrace of darkness does one discover their own voice.
The night is a ritual.
Scattering blood and prayers,
scorching the soul like phantom fireworks.
──Maisie.
Every time that name is called, the night sinks deeper,
and the world beautifully draws closer to ruin.
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Explanatory Note
These two pieces are a testament to the impulses scooped from the lingering echoes of music and stories, sublimated into words.
At first glance, they seem to be opposites: 'heat and fantasy,' 'destruction and prayer.'
Yet, in the space between these two poles, there is a faint, pulsing rhythm that is one and the same—
Ash and forest, flame and prayer. They faintly echo one another, becoming a 'resonance' that quietly sinks deep into the reader's heart.
I hope that the reverberations lit through these words will flicker quietly like a prayer somewhere within the reader's heart.
If anything here touches your heart,
I would be honored if you would follow along with my other tales of fantasy.