Dearest Rebel,
It was stolen from me, a rare occurrence. A prophecy of the seer with credence. The stolen were the bits and dusted crumbs, the walked paths of boredoms, the cracked walls with chipped paints which revealed the glaze dainty, ripe of musings, written with dull pain.
To look beyond the dawning veil upon the clear,
I was invited to a void I recognised as familiar,
glanced at the other realm past the awakening mirror,
as it opened up a symphony of tangy colours.
With it the realisation came of how my admired sanity had been the fire to the caves and drunken nights to the sober days. Alas, little did I know, the caves were a creation of my own, the sober days a plea from parts of me I run from leaving them forlorn.
Little did I know,
of how I had let my serenity
humble the winds of the tumultuous skies,
and in return I had only my own weeping cries.
I knew not that the skies had wished to be my safe keepers, to let their cry unite with mine and lend me their shoulders, yet I banished them only to seek them in the wild hanged cages later.
With my mind half empty,
its heaviness gone with its sense of marked duty,
I perspired for it again, the fullness of insanity,
with a tinge of chaos, a mountain of tainted beauty.
I ventured out of the handsome illusion into the reality to seek what’s now gone, to do what might be shamed, to scare, to crawl, to maim, for what of the thrusted shame if the dips of my stomach will have no remembrance of such state of emotions, of its agonous nature taken by the world to tame.
So I looked far ahead to where my footsteps headed
I raised the pace and ran to the masses,
I bellowed with my heart full
and then it happened.
The hostile hunger of the crowd whirled to look down at my dirty feet, my white muse of a dress drenched in murky waters now made a filthy sheet. I asked back my innocence to be returned piece by piece, my hatred in tonnes I had stored for when the world would strike leaving only sliver seconds for me to breathe.
I asked them to return my desperation
that had become pearls in my clenched fists,
for the potion crafted by my raging tears
to clear this inhumane mist.
But the answer of the hollow left an echo, it sounded haunting, asking if the waves of trepid emotions deserved the existing. I let my questions resound over theirs. If my forgetfulness were to devourer the hated rows where unpleasant states sat, if what was inherent was caught, bound and charred, what would be left of me?
What of those of sense pure and obediently crass?
Who will fly the wisps of creation to the lands olden,
fill one with fervor when the river empty in another
called for death to hold them?
Where would the serpentine water rise, to meet the creatures abound to land, to feel one with rhythm and cries alike? None of the simple treasures will be part of our mere existence, not the discovery of the unruly, to feel unbound in its glory, to cry for the unholy, to growl in the play of the lonely.
None will be a part of existence.
How beautiful would the world be,
with no thunder, no rain,
no swamp, no unpleasant sour veins?
How empty would be creation if only the beauty was alive, for it to accompany no misery by its side? I realised my path as now separated, the only thoughts filling my heavy head were of lessening the pain of those aggravated.
If I were to stumble upon the buried hurricanes
of tortured souls after years of low life,
to unburden them of the cages mighty and vile,
how will one find the trembling of such forces
in the sea when armies march to hold trials?
What shall one do to be not doomed when they pledge venging vows against these victims, these prisoners of the kingdom whose followers worship divinity to accumulate wins? Will it be enough to cut through the seams of my cloth to fill the world of the uncouth?
Will it be enough to favor the one dangerous,
the one called sinner, the one called villain,
with its built unforgiving
but fear lodged in its ghostly skin?
Will the fear of those with beliefs righteous exceed the grasslands? Will I be trampled upon, marked for the kill, for digging a well for my parched enemy I dare recognise as kin? Perhaps, my willingness to harbor the shadows of the repulsive past hurt the skin like shards.
It bares the muddled conscience yet left to mar,
the doors shutting the broken vows kept ajar,
It brings to others a fresh pain and evidence
of what’s hidden in their lingering scars.
It speaks too raucously for those keeping to the whispers, it glares at those hiding to join in like ravaging vultures, it caresses the truth like a lover in bliss, it’s coaxes the foul, the muddy, to rise to the occasion, never again to be missed.
Those who, akin to me, answered the callings,
had their granted names erased,
remarked as scheming rebels,
all their godly acts committed to be reaped held in a cease,
Their wounds that answered the calls lay now in open for those of pointing fingers to attack and rupture, because for those with less tolerance for an opposing winter, a collective command holds the weight of the scripture.
Perhaps the fault lay with me,
for having seen beyond the still waters,
for holding my faith only in me and my sightings
when the world roared at the abnormality
of the vision I chased after.
I must’ve listened, I must’ve stopped. Had I not been the mountain that acknowledged the cracks and crevices which broke with the gushing water as it washed me with truths that had been lingering far, tending to its mysterious matters,
Had I not cut my surface each time
to let the truth be seeped out with catering intent,
I would still be mighty rock,
too enormous to be trampled in stead,
too oblivious to the obliterating mess.
I wouldn’t be the shield of the those lacking voice, breaking smaller each time to further someone else’s journey to recognize their prejudice as a gifted choice. Yet had I been so whole, where would falsehood bleed through from, where would the penetrating light follow the gloomy smoke to bring the much craved warmth?
When would I meet my own companions
I had shunned to keep to the depths
where they would dismantle in distress
had I not found them soon to hold them as they wept?
When the desire instilled of experiencing the worse in a way I was decreed found silence again, my rage woke up dazed in me at the hypocrisy standing tall and wide demanding worship while barricading my way, my intent further glowed warm with decadent war it’s chosen play.
The weapon of my choosing I kept at bay
as I found myself standing in front
of the herd I assessed as strayed. I witnessed their rage
dancing merrily against the spirit very same
while having in its hand a blade heavily weighed.
Their fear kicked haphazardly against the resolution of the unwavering, their vengeance cowered at the sins mauling their heart to find freedom along the way, their disapproval chanted at the extremities found in their flesh in a motion of cascading waves,
Their judgement casts distaste
on those seeking more in expression
but stalled by the keepers
calling themselves the safe.
Then I took what’s of my own with vehemence that left scant space for mercy to be known, I released my soft edges to be hardened into the corporeal mirror to be shown. It happened in little time, their faces frowned as the ignorance tore its ever-changing mask revealing the prisoner of cruelty becoming the instigator of those very crimes.
The skin, of the faces running from their nature dark and grim,
all molded in one,
when the tribulations started to come
one after another, none could be won;
Misery rose in spades when the truth of not being able to run away chased them into submission. The captors of shadow became captured by their own as emotions held captive were freed from their bones.
The dusk settled into the welcomed dark,
all souls exhausted after their notorious task,
but with reversal to nature’s rhythm
one will see the living healing the bruises
imparted by broken mask.
With moonlight brightening the darkening sky, my banished allies found their path, matching my stride, nor left behind now, neither passing me by. I glowed from within at the faces gazing at me so fully after I experienced their loss, they told me of having heard and accepted my call I made once in the chaos.
And when we eventually settled into the night
in the wait of a favoring dawn,
my recovered shadows called me their kin,
and I, at last, called them home.
Rebel, dearest.