I have a friend abroad,
A dutiful witch of white,
To whom I owe praise,
You’ve been there for some time,
Though we have never shaken hands,
With your advice and your Dermot Kennedy,
Your temperance and your magic,
You speak to me on electrical channels,
In the wise chords of shamans,
Reaching miles under moonlight,
Even across wave and cliff,
The words and incantations still reach,
Like owls upon the wing,
A true friend.
Thank you Mel.
When I was young,
I once had a nightmare,
A dream of the most surreal kind,
Was it some ghost?
A bogeyman?
Nothing so mundane I’m afraid,
It was an orb floating in my room,
A ball of yarn unravelling,
With the consistency of intestines,
Of offal,
Crimson weeping from it,
An alien gurgling emanated from it,
Mocking my own heartbeat,
I was struck dumb by it,
Unable to move,
Bloodshot eyes fixated,
Until the yarn was almost unwound,
But then I awoke,
So what did it mean?
I’ve never sussed it out,
I’m not closer to understanding,
I fear I never will.
Under motionless skies,
I stand here,
More perplexed than usual,
I’ve lost my sense of direction,
Or perhaps purpose,
Surrounded by dirt roads,
In all conceivable directions
Twisting about each other like vipers,
Some lined with hellfire and caltrops,
Others with pine trees and skinwalkers,
No path onward is safe I fear,
Even those coated in glitter and sun,
Is this what being lost is?
No signposts to offer clarity,
So what do I do?
Take a step?
The wine glass shatters,
A porcelain heart with it,
The table launches skyward,
This is a crisis,
And there are only two responses,
Two options,
Fight or flight,
Do you flee tail betwixt your legs?
Living to war another day,
Or do you attack?
Rip and tear the shards back together,
The amygdala kicks in,
That reptilian conductor in your head,
Decreeing these two human conclusions,
Time has not paused,
So what is to be done?
Grey matter already told you,
It’s fight or flight,
Inaction is no option,
So spar for them,
Or scram for yourself.
The mundanity has set in,
Like ink upon a lyric sheet,
The world reduced to a dour hum,
The previous verse has ceased,
The last bout of wonder is done,
The choir sets a generic rhythm,
Line by line,
And day by day,
Uninspired,
Now it’s just by the numbers,
Yet maybe I am mistaken,
I’d like to think so,
Perhaps this is just the chorus,
The reprieve,
More of the same,
Before a new verse,
A new start,
A new stimulus.
The rain has me,
And I her,
For her I am a pluviophile,
So I don’t seek shelter,
In her mist I sit rueful,
Yet still am I embraced,
She runs over me,
Pitter-pattering,
Serenading me in raw cacophony,
Millions of notes performed on asphalt,
As we sob together,
Lament together,
Sigh Together,
Cut Together,
All in water,
All in blue.
Above any other,
I disappoint myself,
Especially when I’m the cause of hurt,
Whether by harsh conduct or foul mood,
I too am let down by my life,
What ought to be an auspicious time,
Is just grinding gears and spinning wheels,
Progress feels like a dream,
The writing upon the wall,
And word on the street,
Just go to show what I am,
A disappointment.
I saw him again,
My nemesis,
Yet again,
Scowling at me in the edge of my vision,
In that blasted mirror,
He’s my foe,
The one who could destroy me,
For my solutions,
He brings issues,
For my failures,
He has ridicule,
Animosity from my own tongue,
Laughing with my own face,
Yet I stay my fist from the mirror,
To slay this enemy,
It would only mangle myself,
But you my reader,
My ally,
When you peer into glass or water,
Do you too have a nemesis?
Our spirits are polyglots,
Did you know this?
They can speak many languages,
Even tongues unknown to man,
They converse without our knowing,
Master linguists trapped in luddite bodies,
It is why lovers can talk with their eyes,
Infants know the warmth of a parent,
Why a soldier stands frim beside brothers,
And monsters congregate in packs,
I daresay their work is an uphill fight,
Division is the common tongue of man,
They display it every day,
Unlike we humans,
Souls see each other,
And they listen.
WorldofHarley 