I try
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I try
the leaves are circling my tread-bare tires
blowing around like a crowd rushed in
proclaiming “wait” and “go” and “what” and
“we are all here”
there is a certain shade of rose fog
on the mountains
reading me the chapters
of epochs ending
and I do not want
to hate
so I go out to breathe in lungfuls, pen in hand
and document:
the flavor of the burn
the stars that swim when I stand up
the deadening of my eyes
but I don’t cough
and you tell me I am wrong
about
the fog, the source,
the way it moves
through me
the way
I move
though it
you tell me
it is only ever either night
or day
and you tell me
always/never
do you know?
I would burn down everything
to see my horizons again
to feel the morning dew in my own mind
do you know?
I would write my oaths into my skin
in flowers
and not care
how you judge them
Hello again. Beautiful words. And it's important to find what exists for you and not allow what exists for others to interfere with this. Fog is often a protection. It wraps round fear and pain and despair and loss. You can peel it away in little bits to find that ancient way you were and still can be if you see the fog as a friend that is no longer needed for so much protection. Just walk beside it as it walks beside you but you can decide what and when to wrap and obfuscate. Even if it still happens, nothing changes what was and that includes what you are and were and will be through everything that is between always and never and between day and night. That other fog that kills what is beautiful disperses as you learn not to fear its power and it does have huge power. It can kill and it can wound and it can blot out the world. It can create shadows and hills and stones in the soul's landscape. Often this is because you are not strong against it. It still has power. It still tears silently and erodes and blurs. And threatens. This is a brutal and terrible world wearing beautiful clothes. It is as much a victim as any of us. It succumbs and it arises in an endless cycle. Fog is often the only way to blunt its blades or cause us to lose our sense of wonder and inclusion.
But you should bear in mind that words have wings.