Let's try a different style. This is a sort of parable from a series I've been writing for years. You know me so well, why can't you ever understand me?
Voice from the Other Side by Sha'Tara
You know me so well, why can't you ever understand me? Because you look at me without seeing me; you hear me without listening to what I am saying. And if I take the time to write my visions and parables, what do you see in them but words and more words, the cheapest commodity on your world? You cannot grasp the plot I weave for you, for you are programmed to seek ever the one thing: entertainment. If my words do not form a pattern that entertains, they blur in your mind.
The avatar stands alone on a grey, round-topped hill. All around are grasses changing shades from light green to dark brown. They are as waves of a turbulent sea tossed by the four winds. The winds seem to flow from the top of the hill and spread over the planet. This he can see. He does not make the winds. But they know him and understand. Only the winds. He sings his songs into the winds and they depart from him to spread through bare branches, sign posts, wires, door seals and partially opened windows. But it's not the winds he would teach, it's the people, or at the very least, their children.
He thought, "I have the power. If I broke their toys, would they cry? Would they understand why? No. They would buy new ones and curse me without knowing I even exist. It is their emptiness they curse. They suck their thumbs looking for milk. They fill their ears with manufactured noises. They soothe themselves with subtle poisons. Sated, they ever hunger. Bloated, they become parched and desiccated. Educated, they exude crass ignorance."
The avatar sits silently upon the hill. The stars revolve brightly over his head and the seasons pass. Still the winds flow away from him. When they return he hears and sees all that takes place upon the world. His tears leave salt marks upon his cheeks and his hair and beard grow long and white. He remembers.
He gave his youth and his life to the vision he had been entrusted with, of an innocent world he would help make beautiful.
"They have been without a Teacher for some time. They will hunger for truth and will come to you. Nurture them and teach them of responsibility, of justice, of compassion. They will ask you of love instead, but do not put that burden on them. Let them discover it for themselves as they listen to your words. Let them see the need of it in all of their thoughts and their actions. Let them teach you of love. When it is done, you may return."
He stands upon the hill one last time. "Please forgive me. I have failed. I believed I could change this place. I know it wasn't the world you sent me too, but I thought it could be done. Allow me to return and choose once more. Wherever thou sendeth me, there I shall go."
The hill is no longer. The winds have eroded all signs of its presence. Only sand blows there. Only sand blows everywhere, whipped wildly by acid-laced winds. Only demons howl and scream in the empty bled, lost souls no one will take into account for they but haunt a lost world.
On another world a father holds his children's hands as they splash through a stream of crystal waters. No sadness. No sorrow. Happiness and laughter characterizes the play of life here. The avatar stands as a gnarled old tree. Children climb in his arms as they would branches. Their wellness and innocence inundates his heart. He may look old but he is younger than he ever remembers being.
He chooses not the remember that other world where all his tears, he left in its dehydrating winds.
