So here it is (in its currently title-less state) -- enjoy.
-Adam
Heavy, thick days ahead
filled with expectation, packed to the brim.
Secretly empty, silently changeable.
Mystery waits for untrained eyes,
new sights and sounds and feeling,
growing and shrinking the light within,
pushing and pulling, looking for instinct
and stumbling.
Dark crows the night
where creatures awake and tell their tales.
Energy from below and within cracks and cackles,
howling with fear and crying with laughter.
A flower, the clay of earth, the embers deep within.
Fleeing, fleet of foot, paws pounding earth,
finding what once was home.
Familiar.
Frightful shines the light from mechanical monsters,
stolen away to dreadful ends
hiding tree to rock.
The sound stops.
Walking slow, soundless,
will anything hear the steps with the rain upon the leaves
and streams overflowing?
Quiet approach, but no prey, only isolation.
The steps up to an empty shell that do no creek.
Wet wool comforts in heavy air,
thick with frozen breath and anticipation –
– no, apprehension.
Is the end inevitable?
Could it continue, long enough to break normal and set free, but lost?
The chant of reality pulls back,
struggling and kicking, like the drop after addiction.
Exasperation and exhaustion – the tortured moment before the bandage comes off.
And when it's gone, it still lingers.
The liminal space calls.
It stands, waiting for a trip and a fall – a miscalculation or relapse.
But the mask is off, and the water is cold.
Shape is solid.
For now.
