Unable to cry, do you know what you are doing my love?
When every attempt to fly upon your back is born out of a desperate longing for revenge.
How do you seek when you’ve nothing to hide?
How do you bury when you’ve forgotten how to fly? Your fine feathered wings are damp and broken with the sweat and tears you thought you had long buried, but here they are still today, storming about you like a tempestuous wretch unable to leave you to your own undoing.
What can i say that will make you change your mind little imp? Must you really go out into the storm unarmed or even mildly aware of the danger you put yourself in? Do you know what you face? When the sun shines in the morning will it bestow beauty upon your face or will it simply illuminate the pain that has been etched into your skin upon this harsh night. Do you know what you bare? Really? Do you know what you bare in the depths of your sole, in this mightiest of skins??? Do you know what resides in this bag of flesh? Have you asked it lately what it wants? Or just punctured it with your own misgivings?
Do you know what you seek little imp? All dried up there on the docks, unaware of your own limitations, physical or otherwise. Do you know where you end, where the rest of the world begins? Do you know where to hide if the reality of yourself becomes too much to bare. Where do you go when the edge of your existence simply blends in with the rest of existence, no need to hinder or halt… but where do you find your own outline – do you trace it in chalk like (a police outline) on the road to Elysium???…. or just grin and bare the grimace that surfaces when you realise tomorrow is here already and there is nowhere to hide.
My little imp, are you weary? Or wary? Or worn? Or tired and confused. Do you know who you are, or why? Do you ever wonder why i ask so many questions of you yet answer none?
The road ahead is lined with concrete jaguars hard and angular stabbing the sky with great claws of wet steel. The air is cold yet it graces your skin with a close warmth, a hot breath from a dark city unhindered by human or conscious grief… a stillness damp with solace, afraid to breath even the slightest breeze lest it feel the lungs of its own sorrow. The humid encompassing embrace is all it can offer you, little soul of light, in return for your eternal devotion.
Look above you, the eyes of the jaguar piercing you with eyes of penetrating light, conscious only of you as prey that must be lured, ahem treated with the utmost respect of a master light worker. Her heartbeat pulses through the souls of your feel, you feel the rhythm resonate with the inner workings of your own being, at light-speed infiltrating and infecting every cell of your body, every soul of your being, every inch of your consciousness, to bring it back into the structure of itself…. breathe… you won’t feel a thing…. breathe…. pulse… beat…drone…. spellbound……..
You know it though, like a shaman of the city night you traverse the layers of this landscape like light penetrating water, you play the game yet you are intimately aware of the depths below this crystal shell that appears to support you.
Written by Tjoni Johansen
Copyright 2014 all rights reserved
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