already plainly told
"It is tedious to tell again tales already plainly told." - Homer
Words spill out his mouth, an aging story that has fallen upon my ears time and time again. Like a leaf his story falls, withering to the ground, fading, losing color in autumn's graceful sunset. Crunched underfoot, his voice wades through molting piles, seas of tales too often explored. The sounds of his cracking timbre are just the same - a crinkle here, a rustle there. With each repetition the leaves, brown and decayed, whisper the same story, and each time I push them away, weary from his shadowed warnings. I used to stop and listen, enchanted by the dreadful beauty of death's silent hold. But I, seasoned by earth's wrinkled light, push away the aged whisper of the dying. Closing my ears to time's tedious tales, I turn my eyes to scorn the leaves whose story of dying I can no longer ignore, an urgent murmur spoken from the withered lines gracing his trembling face. Aching, I crush his tale underfoot, my mind shivering from the thought of death's long-expectant visit. It is a tale too tedious, a reality already plainly told.
Words spill out his mouth, an aging story that has fallen upon my ears time and time again. Like a leaf his story falls, withering to the ground, fading, losing color in autumn's graceful sunset. Crunched underfoot, his voice wades through molting piles, seas of tales too often explored. The sounds of his cracking timbre are just the same - a crinkle here, a rustle there. With each repetition the leaves, brown and decayed, whisper the same story, and each time I push them away, weary from his shadowed warnings. I used to stop and listen, enchanted by the dreadful beauty of death's silent hold. But I, seasoned by earth's wrinkled light, push away the aged whisper of the dying. Closing my ears to time's tedious tales, I turn my eyes to scorn the leaves whose story of dying I can no longer ignore, an urgent murmur spoken from the withered lines gracing his trembling face. Aching, I crush his tale underfoot, my mind shivering from the thought of death's long-expectant visit. It is a tale too tedious, a reality already plainly told.
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