Elucidating Questions

Gone are you gone are you missing?

The settling in of the unsettled. The setting of the sun that never sets from its point of view.

The clouds are moving in like a blanket to hold the ground, of only they would fall if only they would fall.

Night whispers of holding hands and running away, not dreaming of anything but today.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to back to truly normal,

But I can swallow what I’ve got and keep going.

It’s not a danger to anyone, even if the words I say are laced with them.

It’s not something I have control over, it is like watching a play in reverse.

The things all around me echo things all around me.

Where on earth could the safest place be?

I am safe, and that is more than some can say.

I am safe.

I like the hole in my shoe that the sand pours out of, the remnants of an ocean visit.

The sand poured out, but some remained, and the vision of it falling down the sides means only that it always remains.

In this moment on land in the shade of the trees, the ocean still speaks for me.

The blue leaf, or the sun’s sword, in the red eye of war.

The caress of the wind on the face of any person. Far away clouds, seeds in the air, the heartbeat of the planet, hidden under the fire of the warmth of the sun.

The mistakes of the past, it was never theirs to have, it was for the sun to hold,

Strong enough to carry it alone, unlike the further away, the two who will collide.

The beauty of what is created, is something that will be viewed, in the mind of another in the story of their creations,

When the world was one, and against all others.

Closer now, even as they claw and scream,

If the world could be whole, without this strange elevation.

The interestingly considered lifestyles of the war of them,

On the right track, something that makes sense,

While other parts were too rigorous, they forgot how to act.

So many ideas on the edge of right, right in the middle.

Where the balance factors.

How to explain to the sun that you still love it when you hide in the shade of a tree.

A shadow is the proof that you stopped sunlight from reaching the earth.

Stepping into summer before the solstice, the earth should not be ahead of the sun.

When she spins out of balance with the rest of the orbs they scream,

And what planet would welcome with open arms a people who consume and don’t give back?

What person takes everything from their mother until she has nothing but sickness left?

We give thanks for people, and beings, and things with visible life,

While forgetting the reason we are alive, is because we were perched on the branch of a tree in the sky, whose leafs fed us, sheltered us, kept us dry when the skies opened up.

And gave us the rain that falls, the water we drink.

Selfless love is far closer than you think, for be it an accident of the chaos or a piece of the cosmos,

You landed on a garden with everything you ever needed.

And the light that burns from the centre is perfect, perfect in every way. Someday we will know the odds, but from then and from today,

Acknowledge the luck of happening here, even when the rain is falling, because of what those who did before us made.

We could choose to stand, to stop disregarding, to stop thinking

When will this affect me?

Will it affect you when you are affected, or will you reach out and see it affects people every day?

People who give and people who love, people who want to fly, but cannot, people who tried and were stopped in their tracks,

People are affected.

Affected by the earth’s fever, the blur and the haze, affected by the people who would leave her like that.

Your mother has a fever, do you tell her to sweat it out and wait? Or do you love her, and try to make it better?

All the times she sat by you as you burned, and wanted you better, wanted you not to hurt.

She gave us the materials to make the medicine to make us better, she gave us the comfort foods we eat to feel too, she gave us everything we have.

So,

Be it luck of the draw or an existence that must be regarded and saved,

Don’t discard the one thing we all have in common, never forget you have her, or you truly will be blind.

I dreamt of you, do you remember me? Those mornings when every morning I whispered good morning,

To someone far far away.

Dreams are only dreams, but they have so much meaning in the soul.

Everything I have, exept dreams and my heart,

Tell me to let go because it’s too late. I feel so many things, people, places, and it’s still you.

It’s still everything about you, even though you are not for me.

I am for you. Irony.

It’s okay, it’s fine,

Because every day you’re beautiful and still you, that’s all I ask.

In moments of weakness I may fall and say I need you and want you, but I know, I know you don’t have me in mind.

I wouldn’t ask you to change, I merely forgot about it,

The habits of something that walks between too many lines, is to forget the lines exist.

Somewhere beyond the barrier between us, I hope the birds are singing and the sky is blue.

Don’t work too hard, I do love you.

Appreciation for the man who carries the world on his shoulders, the turtle with the world on its back.

The magnets that hold us in place, sometimes, for now.

And the strain it takes to hold it all up, to try to carry anything.

The stone figures of the world on his shoulders, the spoken words of the animals who carry it.

The understanding before the proof that something propelled the earth.

The understanding before the proof that something propels humanity.

The propeller, the spinner, the one who holds it to fly, the carrier can use a hand,

A break for a moment to have to himself, don’t try to carry it all by yourself.

It’s all a punishment for something sometime, for not following the will of the lightning or thunder.

The perceived trails they set out to cause failure, when in the bigger scales it is far different.

Because somewhere beyond here is something that can be felt, and it’s best to hear it as a choir,

Than as a person.

At the end of the crimson hallway is a mirror that sits as if it is part of the wall, the only light in a hallway that is only red where the light of the mirror can be seen,

One sees not themselves within it, but the light of war that humanity carries and hands, back and back and back.

At the end of the hallway I stared into the mirror out of confusion and disinterest. Disappointment in the eyes of the mirror of the wars of humanity.

The fight is what was manufactured, that oddity of hearing “tell me” and doing as one is told, without writing the subject of the story into the pages.

The one in the box, behind the glass of the mirror that is a window to the one who controls it, wonders when the last time this kind of thing happened, what was taken and given.

Feed it, the monster in the cage, the red one, the only one I feared,

Until I realised that in refusing it, I was stepping out of the line of humanity.

Tapping on the glass, the glass taps back. I want nothing from it, the bottled up emotions of billions.

And yet anger comes fleetingly and unless well deserved is always regretted seconds later,

And realising that a fight, and a war, are two very different things, one can be seen, one can be fixed,

One is the end of countless numbers for reasons never fully explained until too late.

They don’t fight for their homelands anymore, this isn’t invaders and self defense. This is humanity forgetting humanity.

The beast beyond the glass is not war, it is calamity. The scratching of the claws on the glass, the other side of the glass.

The glow from the mirror, is the hope that keeps calamity at bay.