Elucidating Questions

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.

The calm breeze brings wishes through the air like seeds blown as the magic twists between on the day of fire, during the month of perhaps.

It’s not the metal that flies it is the beginning of next spring in preparation, before and after.

Pieces of dreams falling as they fly through the sky, trying to fit into places.

Promises of tomorrow for the ground, the plants.

Standing under the trees that provide a moment of rest, seeing the small drops of life in the continuing life of the grass.

Things often unnoticed, filling a colour everyone has already seen,

But there has never been a flaw, on the earth of blue and green.

The white swirls that are not here, but elsewhere, the expanse of the sky.

Standing in the breezes as the wishes fly.

The wind blows and it matters to me.

The feeling on the lips covered to hide any accidental lies unmeant.

The sweeping wings that catch the wind as they flow to the ground in interest of needs, accidentally provided.

The walking away, the first monarch of the season flew past.

Seeing the new and the older, the wild on threads.

They pass by, doing as they do, being as they are.

The twitch of the lack of sleep or the the too much stress.

Didn’t take any oaths, but the hallways still led to darkness for too long.

This lack of sleep that causes the world to feel distant, even when present.

Feeling through a thick fog, while trying to find something to feel.

It’s a smile that stops me in my tracks regardless, a face I search for in every crowd.

Every chance that someone could be you, every chance.

A warmth at my back I can explain, and so many things I cannot.

Actions and words that didn’t quite match up as reality bled away into coincidences and the impossible.

Trying to do it from a step back and hope it still feels or hope you felt it to start.

Trying to hear the pieces of dreams to find an answer that would fit.

Closing the eyes to make it dark so that maybe the waves can find your heart.

The wandering dreams that fall with each word and action.

So far away from where I wanted to be now, that’s the connection to the words, I find them everywhere.

The echo.

If the butterfly’s wings wave so far away, in a never ending prayer that continues every day,

Is the effect known or seen the farther away?

Saw fear of the future and tried to continue to make the days following better.

Dropped when everyone around started turning around.

I see the author and the guide, refusing to sing words that don’t mean what it means.

Not knowing how to convey, exactly what you want to hear.

The next moment I could stumble and it may not be what is needed.

Or wanted,

And I…

All I want is for you to have a reason to smile.

Will you please tell me what I can do to make it all up to you?

People do kind things, some yell at you for no reason, some are kind in strange ways.

Some are indifferent to things that should bring joy and gratitude,

Some refuse to admit when they make mistakes.

Some are good, just because they are.

Can you prove that love exists when sitting alone in a box with things?

The answer isn’t as simple as the pieces of people in the pages or on the screens or in the paintings or on the vases,

The creation of the representation better for behind closed doors where thoughts flow and emotions are not on trial.

The proof of love can only be seen, observed, must be noted to be put down in pages.

Producing love from nothing, the insurmountable task of continuing it or else.

Or the question may never be answered outloud.

How I wish I could be answered aloud, the question I stopped answering.

It doesn’t mean it’s not there, it means it hurts.

The absence of it is not the proof of it not existing but it existing in a state than cannot be conveyed.

Words are not enough. They will never be enough.

If they come out they may hurt and I can’t do it, can’t do it anymore. Thought it was wanted, I was wrong.

In one’s own falling, over and over,

The words

It hurts so much, like a stone in my chest that beats off time and I try so hard to find something else, something with feeling.

The stone hurts, the stone weighs, it was wings once.

I am weak, I am the one who loses sleep, I am the one who heard a call without hearing it to stand up as that silent majority.

Do you want to hear me?

Do you hear what the awakening suddenly causes?

Catch the link and slow down, because I did what was posited I rushed and ran and did everything I could to cause something different

And it didn’t matter, and no one stood up with me.

Crying for change while covering the hand of the screaming.

It feels like I will never matter, the songs that will never be sung.

So start, and run, as I did, and burn as they watch and never hold out a hand.

Or take it slow and try to remember that you are a light that should never fade out, that it matters.

You’ll matter if you have people who love you and think you matter.

I am the one sacrifice that was made for no reason other than to try something.

I suppose I should have heard my own warning

That there was an order to feed the machine,

And that I didn’t realise I was following it.

They’ll all watch.

They won’t hear me.

But they’ll hear anyone else,

I am merely the false pretenses of thinking I was on the right track.

Someone else will do better, there is always someone better.

What did they actually want from me I wonder?