[ He is the beginning and the end, the past and the future-present; stories passed down from generation to generation of a hero shining brightly in the hearts of leaves that worship lies of peace; the first Hokage who brought prosperity and ended those chaotic times of war, paving the way for villages to rise around the world, and for so many to fall in shadows unseen and unheard by anyone who wasn't there to watch them drown in pools of blood, disintegrating into dust (a boy once stood on riverbanks with no name and took another's hand in his and spun dreams out of thin air; we will conquer the world one day, he said over bites of winter melon that tasted like hope those days in the sun, before blood ran between the teeth and across the tongue) like the legend Madara once was, save for the statue that bears his face, crumbling and forgotten in a valley of ends.
(Everything Madara hates and everything he loved smolders in the ruins of dark lights and bright shadows; dreams spoken on riverbanks, dreams of a sky that could've belonged to them and once did.)
Uchiha's pride flew in the air when they stood across battlefields.
Everything I hate and admire the most--
He closes his eyes and remembers even when he tells his mind to stop; his memories are old and too many and he wants to say enough, you've had enough. But it is hungry, memory; ghosts lingering at the edges of his life, eating up the past even when it's too much. Izuna chases a dragonfly and his laughter is as bright as the blade he wields on the battlefield when it slices through a Senju throat. One thousand hands in war, one thousand roots rising out of soil. They were so beautiful then, the fires of his clan, blazing as clearly now as they once did, seen only by him.
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timeasmymeasure
Private to Yukari
Date: 2009-07-01 04:07 am (UTC)(Everything Madara hates and everything he loved smolders in the ruins of dark lights and bright shadows; dreams spoken on riverbanks, dreams of a sky that could've belonged to them and once did.)
Uchiha's pride flew in the air when they stood across battlefields.
Everything I hate and admire the most--
He closes his eyes and remembers even when he tells his mind to stop; his memories are old and too many and he wants to say enough, you've had enough. But it is hungry, memory; ghosts lingering at the edges of his life, eating up the past even when it's too much. Izuna chases a dragonfly and his laughter is as bright as the blade he wields on the battlefield when it slices through a Senju throat. One thousand hands in war, one thousand roots rising out of soil. They were so beautiful then, the fires of his clan, blazing as clearly now as they once did, seen only by him.
Madara looks at her and sees the blood. ]
You're bleeding, Yukari-dono.
[ He doesn't answer her question. ]