The story I will tell you, these storie my lips cannot let lose into the air without ears to catch them, and like other stories yes there is a prince. One perhaps that grow in mountain, disbanded , dethroned in the country of Cramne-d
Act1: monologue dark prince lose
Dark prince :
Black is the taste, of oranges Crackling in, like rotten Apples in trees
There I miss the not given sweet, of a haft lose clock, within The bitter, sweet taste of Cramne-d. —Of things that were, that cannot Be into wrath with the magic circle
The tastefulness of a dreamed French kiss, on the edge of radnarok
There I found myself, screening the name, into the blinding hands of conscience
And the blood and my hands, and my tired up feet and the bodies in the ground, bleeding like smash like grapes-I say “Oh—oh —a ” in the sound of your people, who I am among, in so much blue ?
Of ocean and seas , that shine like the sun with golden wings
Red is the taste, Blame, there is the rain , and even the crying clouds
like seagulls and fish are Running and pushing , the mode. of space and light
Into the gaminess of the momentum , write the note of my voice
Write , write the heaviness of my heart; Sing the sound of my sorrow,
“where are these Chains that bind my heart” ?
Where! oh lord of the sea and skies, where? so I can cut them, where!
Blue is the paint , desperate is the period, of facing the dark secrets of love
There we feel like chart , crackling into the board, where we feel like water
Slippery, rushing and going into the air, falling and Changing with the temperature of wether
These garden of flower, remind me of the sun, but they been Shades with red
But they have been shaded with notice and your memory
If so can I survive the iron steeliness of men,
Can mine conscience be wordy of you? So how if not wordy, I found myself in Cramne-d capture, surrounded and different.
©Rémy Rytepo