I'm banished from the world I know, and cast into darkness. And I sit within a lonely room, accepting starkness. The plain and empty walls and floors have nothing left to say. I'll venture any way I want, but must remain a stray. I'm not expecting sympathy. I know that hour is gone. I only want it to be known I've wandered all along.
A prayer was made at the altar -- a prayer no one could hear. A sacrifice had been promised of someone all held dear. But not one soul would take the knife, and do the wicked deed: to take that life, an unearned life and speak the evil creed. They dragged the victim to the rim of an old volcano. Just one kick would be all it took; still, they all said, "Hell no!" What kind of beastly deity could fault them for failing? The kind whose sense of right and wrong is fucked beyond ailing.
Sitting on cold, volcanic rock upon a stormy shore, Watching waves crash, hearing naught but wind, and crying for more in a scream that cannot be heard over nature's harsh din as I feel the snap of gusty wind, through cloth so thin that it can't hold back nature's force to draw the heat from bone, and, feeling under this black sky, I am now all alone.
I fell into a deep dreamhole amid the broad daylight, and tumbled and tumbled, stumbling out in the dark of night. I lost so many hours of life where reflections shimmer. I could not breathe, nor could I float - I, the swimless swimmer. I dropped, lost in those reflections. They were my mind's great curse, luring me to a shimmer space that I could not traverse.
The waters rise slowly, at first - like a cool tease or flirt. But soon there's not one single inch of dry or exposed dirt. It's knee-high seas for as far as the naked eye can see. The shrubs are drowned, and there're no trunks on any of the trees. I'm sick of being soaked, and hope the world will quickly drain, and restore what was once a vast expanse of fruitful plains.
Living like a lighthouse keeper - alone beyond nowhere. Out of sight and out of one's mind, beyond the range of prayer. One's loss unnoticed until there's a wreck upon the rocks. Counted on to prevent chaos from out in the boondocks. A world that doesn't want, or know, you begs your best attention, but will forget to give all but its stern reprehension should you fail or should you falter and catastrophe strikes, they will find your long dead body with their pitchforks and their pikes.
To those who cling tenaciously to their own sanity: How much freedom can the sane have? How much humanity? Where's the freedom in not shouting your truth when/where you can? In pretending that the uni- verse has some sort of plan? Freedom lies in learning to ride the chaos to the depths, and learning how one can breathe denied the air for breaths.
A stone dog guards the temple gate with dead, but bulging, eyes. And gargoyles mount a stern defense from the cathedral spires. But what's a mounted mask to do to keep evil at bay? And what's the flash of fu dog teeth to end a vicious fray? And what would lead me to assume that evil lies outside, when your greeter is pure ugliness with wild and crazy eyes?
I saw a bucktoothed monkey sit on the ground all alone. It looked the doofus - its dental- mental shortfall shone, but is the size of incisors a measure of one's smarts? Has anyone done the study, gathered data, made the charts? What if that dentally-outsized primate is a dreamer- a mastermind, a supervillain, or just a first-rate schemer? What if it just wants us to think that it's a huge dimwit? So, it doesn't show its erudition, or its razor-keen wit. Instead, it waits for us to be lulled to a false repose, so that it can show us we're all a bunch of biased schmoes.
A Myna bird comes marching in; it'll soon rule the roost. It seldom fails to have its way anyplace it's introduced. The goggle shapes around its eyes make its stare more intense, but compare it to a raven; you'll see it's pure pretense. Like kudzu and cockroaches, they can't help but run amok. Should they come to your neighborhood - well, that's just your luck.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 