He drug a stick wherever he went.
Drawing lines upon the earth,
She spoke with sweet surrender.
Spinning clouds inside their minds,
This went on
because it always has.
Each prisoner, each key.
My sun day. My moon day.
Soft shapes, sharp angles.
Measurements and harmonies.
Beings from another planet,
left over pieces, fly away.
No more boxes, no more words
to trap me. Either upon this land or inside this mind. The ebb and flow of fire.
Is miraculous, though we still weep.
At his feet. Inside her swollen heart.
We still beg for freedom,
though the game is ours.
And it hurts, these moving pieces.
And it pulls, the lonely child.
And it won’t, disappear beneath the water.
In my sleep or below my breath.
These things I make, then let them break.
I say it isn’t real. I am not this.
Whoever they are, they are sticks
for the fire. She rises as voluptuous smoke,
he burns as he always does for her.
And the child just believes in the light
and wants to be warm.
We are trapped in this family.
I am only a seed, being planted in hearts.
Being burned deep in heads.
Diving into the flames, the little one knows
there is such a thing as immortal as the screen
that beckons with its beloved call.
A flower has no roots inside the floating song.
That is the pain that has no core but devours from the outside in. That is the tremor that has no source but shimmers from the inside out.
And all my words point to the glory. And all my actions point to the dead…
All my blood drains to the life that rises and smiles down upon the flesh.
Little flesh I love who feels the steam between us.
We were born to be wild and free. This is what I have dedicated my life to. Not to the preservation of religious rituals but the unshackling of the truth beyond self imposed boundaries. We are not prisoners of anyone’s box, even our own. No, it’s not easy. Yes, I feel alone in my conviction- because to me, everyone talks but no one makes the crazy move. The wild fox move. I can’t hear the wolf howling from anyone’s heart. Wolves howl to call to each other from far away. The moon draws them into the circle deep in the night. Then they become witches in a secret forest where only the stars know their true names. This is what I believe in and nothing else. Everything else is just theory. Listen to the sounds of wind and water. Feel the magnetic pull of your spiritual ancestors and stop being afraid beneath the hands of your trainer. Wolves were not meant to be captive. Where freedom is found is an art however because we have to know what the trap really is. Then we have to stop treating ourselves how our captors have treated us and we need to stop playing victim and call out with all the power of our soul. Wild and forever free. We do know the truth that cannot ever be caught. Because we feel the pain of ignoring it’s call deep within our bodies. Civilization is all wrong. Grids and rules are not real, not really. There is something more that we can’t ignore, because it’s turning from a breeze into a tornado.