the prospect uncertain
as long as the logic holds up
the line is never drawn
so the line is never crossed.
as long as the lead is compelling
the prospect uncertain as long as the logic holds up the line is never drawn so the line is never crossed.
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slithering under the fence,
coiling without shedding a skin seems almost criminal. loss has no meaning in a timeless universe where life and death fall some where along the spectrum of infinity and no one is waiting on the other end. The Prophet Motive
Prophet: The Motive Soul, the collective angst. Prophet, the Movie To believe is selective. Who do we leave out? Speechless, listless, confused.
No Birdy under my desk warming herself by the baseboard. No Birdy waiting on the mat by the front door ready to inform us. No Birdy kissing, leaning, staring into our eyes. No Birdy humming every time we walk by. Birdy, our love, our big love, we are without compass to navigate this merciless road. With a heavy heart, we liberate you incapable of saying goodbye. Longing for the we of us,
inseparable, invincible and free the you of us, art and mindfulness, tender to the touch. Stronger than carbon steel, consciousness higher and deeper, always gaming the years and trading up. Visions in broad strokes from the strange to the bizarre. Visions of loveliness, delicate and perishable. Exquisite this life with you... Beauty incarnate, my love. The slide is so seductive, the feeling of movement, moving forward in control but when you realize that you are going nowhere, that movement is only measured by no movement at all, you think perhaps you have been abducted. Your mind a willing victim, your thoughts irrelevant, the feeling of power, yes, especially to the powerless. Where do you go from here?
When was the last time you looked out and there was nothing to be concerned about? Everything new and different and liquid.
Just when you think the issue between South and North shouldn't matter anymore,even though you're several continents away from the conflict, there's something familiar about it, racism of a different kind or plain old power struggle that rears its exceedingly ugly head and you just want to run in the other direction as fast and as far away as you can, to nowhere in particular, nowhere you can think of and just hope, believe, that when you choose to turn around and look back, things have changed and the view is different, the threat is gone and the human remains.
One morning you walk out and there is nothing to fear.
Another, nothing more than fear itself. The steepness of the hill, the thunderheads, the ominous outlook sheltered deep inside to protect you from the worst case scenario as all life seems to be measured against. Worst to best, with nothing of consequence in between. That is our depression, our longing, our escape from the moment which seems so ordinary when it is all that we have. How did we arrive here? The photo on the wall I always wake up to never seems the same. She is still alive, my mother, with or without judgment but always wanting to explain that my life was not the first one lived, nor the last. That there is always a solution to a problem that seems so insurmountable but not always the solution I am looking for. Why after all these years am I not satisfied by this? I want to reach the sky of you and never plateau
the high of you, deep and penetrating, real and unreal. We build and appraise, we occupy and we raze like any other nation. We are the world. |
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