To find and string your own strands..They fly in the whirlpool of ripples rising from your epicentre..
To find your heart throttled beneath the sheaths of all that your heart knows.. and doesn’t know..
To find the true destiny of the scarred hope..
Hope who walks stealthily in your darkest shadows..
Hope is the tongue of that loving king on the throne of buried hell..
Warns you of a beautiful death.. Murmuring hoarsely“burn the wooden doors of the great framed arch..”
To find.. find that place.. that place we all want to go to.. ..
All want to writhe and laugh..and dance..and roll in its heated sand..
A craft doorway.. The wooden doorway frames it.. The hell’s haven..
Be forewarned of seeing your pitiful self sculpted on gallows..
Drag your famished body..
Shoot into the orange light…rising heat…fiery flames of love and war..
Of bludgeoned hope.. Ambient dreams.. and rising agony..
And sweet, ravishing, merciless poisonous fruits reaped in lawless love…
Hold your breath and drown forever..It’s the sea of bodies of crippled friends..
Each face a glaring resemblance of your many flesh wounds.. of your many fair colors..
To find the loss that scraped your flesh bit by bit.. To find all that you thought you had abolished…
To find all those brave souls you stabbed with you lust for life…for selfish freedom..For heinous desires..
To find your mind in trampled by one a many hurtling truths of enticing lies..
To see the bundles of firewood you have gathered..
And to see the blood red sunshine you have drawn in that bland…colourless garden of life
Masked tiny creatures carrying trays laden with shells..
Embodiments of prophesied lives lived in and with or without them..them-love..hope..dreams…ambitions..
To find that one creature who might frisk past screeching your name..you must follow the voice..
Chasing with your hands tied..On your knees to reach touch a shell..
And find that one shell that prophecies your freedom from this journey.. as a slave of time..
A voice leads to another voice and another… And you must twist and scatter and disfigure..
But each head that turns to face you… a medusa..
And you must look at it to escape into the next moment..
You are sculpted on the gallows..
To piece all those static bits.. to merge all the stone figures..you must burn..drown and disfigure to find..
To find…to find..to find.. to find…I must go on..to find..