Yes I fancy those children, the way their imagination works is fascinating. He chases butterflies calling them magical fairies yet he releases them when they fall under his mercy. She cries on the crumbs of her crackers and calls them falling angels from the sky. She imagines the rain drops as soldiers being sent down to rest after a battle, so she dances under love trying to collect them on her skin to live in her.
He lays down to count the stars and says I’ll go there one day to play with them and perhaps shine like they do. She sneaks on her toes into my library; which she thinks is forbidden, to learn the secrets of life of course. They fear our cook; from her broad face that they compare with stone. They say she eats children and cook them.
I laugh at these scenes which they make. I only wish that the last one was not true. Yes, my angels are stars now in a far fairyland guiding soldiers to the secrets of life, that’s what I like to think.
I sat there in a garden of heaven trying to summon my inner self to ask her things, to look up to her light and beauty. There were birds of white pearls, falling rivers of flowers, the sky was clear blue; a peaceful reflection of everything was displayed on this pure angelic sky and great waterfall poured from a single cloud and it turns to life giving light. I admired it all and I waited for her. I see a figure coming from a distance … Behind clarity extends mystery. As I hear calming flowing rivers my blood boils of curiosity.
Here she comes! The goddess of beauty and innocence …
What is that sound? What is going on? The earth is shaking! The light is fading, the sky is breaking, the water turns to lava and my garden is on fire! … My inner self, my higher self … Where is she? She is turning! Her hair is red, her skin is black stone and her face is … Why … She is the devil! I have been deceived. Thick black rain is dripping from the sky and darkness came over forcing me to face my demon … A battle is here to be and one will kill the other.
Words are sculptured from stones and emotions are expressed from roses, yet the meaning is lost in the falling rivers of hell. How can I tell the long night about my nothings? Shall I sing and be heard through the broken lock? What a rusty voice … I have been silenced for a long time by the scratches in the walls.
The crying child inside my eyes, whose wrists are suffocating from chains, can be heard and so is the old broken lady who is melting in the boiling blood in vain. My hollow soul splashes in grey and as it rains sorrows I choose to feel nothing. How can I write about nightmares that begin with a creak?
How can I tell stories about the evil eye watching me through that keyhole like a circus freak? Dark smoke flows in the pupils of my eyes staring back at me in that mirror which draws me into my fading self. Pain peaks, pain smoothly slips on his toes through the cracks like a diamond thief. My demons are playing music in the ruins and it’s keeping me tamed as heat escapes along with those frozen emotions whom I blame.
I hear crashes waking up the sleep and I see flying ashes making screaming faces at me. The numbers are escaping the clock running away towards infinity and the shadows whom I used to hunt are haunting me. The sky made firestorms of insanity which are ripping my house up and breaking it down. I stood alone and wept until the Phoenix emerged and gave perfervid love to my beginning.