The Epitaph He could feel the winds creating the epitaph of his life as he walked through the long

discernable passage through the deep tangled woods. The winds shattered against his soul as if to shake him back to life. His cold skin quivered at the trials of the wind, feeling safe in the raging cavern that enveloped him. But he had been benumbed to the core, and to revive the dead was fruitless. He still walked his last searching frantically through the sands of time where he had lost himself, a beggar for a soul. He looked for substance that destiny had so beautifully taken away from him. He looked for memories that lay shattered on the road that he walked. But his solitude was too inveterate to be sliced out with such ease. The stories of his battles of life engraved upon the residual spirit that carried his body through the howling storm. The raging winds impinged upon his eardrums, calling him from the dead; stirring through his hollow spirit to search for wounds to heal. But he had neither the will nor the strength to carry on except this last look through the woods he walked. Blood sprawled across the reddened sky as it unleashed its mighty tempest down upon the earth. He looked up to capture the fierce glory of the battle. And then he looked down at his brittle hands, closing his eyes to feel the delicate aura that each drop it carried, adding to them his own tears which yearned gravely for some of the colours that emanated from those drops of the night. He could feel the aridity of his heart that had suffered unheard for so long, now gasping for life, clinging on to each breath that the sky itself tried to quench. But the water from the brink above could not cleanse its wounds, could not stop the rush of blood that so beautifully came to greet its healer. There was a lot more to absorb than just his bleeding heart. The rain fell heavy on the trees that shuddered in pain beside him, their wood giving in to the fury that had been unleashed upon them. Their roots held tight onto the loose soil that lay beneath them. The groves choked and cried in exhaustion as the storm uprooted its limbs one by one. As stones and debris hurled at him from all directions, it seemed that the night held a promise of destruction, and none would be spared. The timid leaves of the trees filled the air, blinding him at every step as he tore through and defied them. He had walked through too many miles of toil and promises to be intimidated by them. The frigid darkness descended around him as the storm straggled through the woods. Deprived by the warmth of feeling, it was only this that could understand him through his journey. The soft shadows gave his dying spirit a shoulder to face the ominous storm that tried its best to reduce him to ashes. It set in front of him a mystical mirage of life and comfort that his insides had been searching with such agony. But his reverie broke too soon by the fuming reality that lay before him. The slithering darkness devoured his mind, swayed him to look for the immortal comforts that he could choose with such ease. Inside, his dying embers cried to struggle vehemently against it. But the dark demons of the night had already poisoned him, stealing from him his leftover existence. With nothing but his heart left to battle, he fell to the ground. But in his last moment, the trivial beauty of the moon feigned through the storm to show him what he had been looking for. It lay safely in the caul of nature, untainted by the filth of life. He seemed so many miles away from yesterday as he looked at himself though his own eyes. Even though he had been reduced to nothing, he knew that he had once felt every emotion of warmth and love; that his reality had not been destined where he lay. His remains had once glistened with nothing but happiness and hope. He knew that his broken heart had seen the grace of God in all its meaning. He closed his eyes to absorb his sight and submitted himself to the final tranquillity. The wind picked up the pieces of his shattered memories to adorn his epitaph.