Changing of the Shadow

2.20.09

My mind has been like a wartime leaflet dropped from the emerging dawn. The glowing hearts and bones on fire below, rising from the ashes, to my mother, standing in the shadows, all alone. Recently, we've craved the warmth, we've envisioned the ice stained pathways echoing the sun of a deeper, more blue day. We each envision us with someone else, someone happier, someone who can find all the answers for us on that perfect day. After all, what could be more perfect than a cloudless, summer day with the most perfectly dancing souls to ignite its power? From our nearly lucid daydream, we've returned to the same drifting fields of white, the cold still offering its passionless grip, we let it grab us, unloved in loveless hands. the bare trees evoke a desperate sign, the brick walls are a beacon of warmth and safety. Here, humanity is the only respite, sealed inside of stone, a germ- ridden sarcophagus. But, don't worry, we're here to do the best we can. The wilderness behind our backs is shifting in patterns we scarcely see, downtown, mecca, taj mahal, cough cough cough. The town is on fire like a burning piece of parchment around the edges, the inside is a goldmine, words spilling out of the garbage cans, something rare and no one's told. The scene couldn't be any more perfect, the story we've got here is too unbelievable to be told. The secret can never escape the lips of its few storyholders. We are the recipients of something extolled by forces unseen to most, we are its keepers, we are its voice, its light. We will take its life with our own when the time strikes danger. It's taken on a life of its own, it's the mummified prince of the dawn, stomping in his ancient boots, walking on down the hall, opening the door to sister merlin in a slipstream, there's cross hairs on the walls. We plead for anything that can break the chain of madness around our feet. Am I your placebo, beautiful? Am I your silent fix? Do you know the beginning and end of what is sacred? You swallow the truth like the fish under the ice, into some blank, black cove, starved of oxygen and life. No one is safe on the outside or the inside, c'mon baby meet me in my pants before we both die in this place. The Earth is a spaceship doomed to never return to its maker, we are its prisoners, ambient beings in the changing of the shadows. We never asked for this, we don't know why we came from where we came from. We're like the Russian dolls, trapped inside of each other, smaller and smaller until the smallest eeks out a hole in the frozen realm and screams, "God, what made you betray us!" The thin layer of sanity, though it reflects the beauty of life, can tear so easily, let the bastards through it and the whole place goes down in flames, choking the survivors on its rancid, though beautiful smoke. Now, someone take my hand, show me to the door, get me out of this trap and put me in another one. I'll be back, I'll be more fucked up than the last time, and I'll have words for each of you.