'Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its' goal;
Dust though art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.'
[Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - what a name]
Ware, ware!
Doctor Watson I fear we are far from the maps...
far from the maps indeed,
we Tip over the edge...
and to where we fall we do not know.
There are leviathans in our midst...
they take the shape of what we least expect,
the subtle shifting in the side-by shadows...
the white noise in your head,
they are the incredible word you never expected from a friend...
and the whisper in your ears,
telling you to press harder...
press harder on the pedal,
let yourself fly crazily along...
indeed wouldn't it be incredible to see the sky upside-down?
Step through into dusk...
shooting stars and a seat for me,
and a seat for you...
We were swept up by the waves,
taken captive by the sea...
we flew to Mercury,
and had a cup of tea...
we burrowed our way into the tunnel's of the earth,
and nestled between its skin and heart...
we saw the blind creatures crawl up from beneath,
and we heard their shrieks...
felt their cold iron breath,
we dug so deep until the light it blinded...
and things swam out from the hidden brilliance,
chortling in an array of sounds...
the beginnings of sorrow and the eve of fury.
The wind it whispered to me last night...
there are things you need to know,
secrets we kept well to give...
we give to you as this,
Listen...
hear behind our wail,
the smallest of tiny drums...
beating out eternally through the midnight hours,
we tug and jostle...
and prance upon the highest point,
to scream what could be what was what is...
and it is this,
They are coming...
for your deeds and words and heart,
a plague of soul-eaters...
a darkness that grows with the ticking of time,
with the years that crumble away...
from you,
we don't speak its' name aloud...
yet we hear it in our bones,
resounding out an echo of dust...
what did happen to those worlds?
The planets they spin...
they whirl,
they burn...
yet it is the fractures of forgotten societies,
that lace those other worlds...
tombs of memory,
spinning and spinning for eternity...
mayhaps the stars will throw themselves from the skyy tonight,
perhaps they will reveal the most beautiful of voices...
mayhaps the wind is the sweetest of caresses,
who could ever love a faceless creature such as the breeze though...
and yet what other being dances?
To know of the wind is to know of love...
of frightful, ferocious heart,
My dear I have become certain...
that it is not the sort of love I desire,
to be clung to and wound up amongst invisible blankets...
no,
I would rather not be someones whole world,
give to me the adoration of the tornado...
the whip and club of the wind and rain,
the scream of the lightning in my ears beneath tin...
and the violence of the storm,
the cold distance of the moon...
that forever gazes down,
and the sea which breaks apart what we are and promises nothing...
these I have bound myself to in ways not spoken,
and I realised that that was what I wanted...
forget the flimsy love of those we know,
and take instead the eternal...
I sat in the dark,
sometime past midnight last night...
and it came to me two choices,
a pale slender hand reaching out against the regular path of life...
to me,
to follow your soul...
to follow your heart,
the only choice you know...
is that you can't live one life alongside the other,
the dark and gloom and figures you birthed...
that live between your skull,
will slowly tear you apart if you choose an appropriate life...
and the loneliness burns away like acid if the heart we follow,
better to run...
better to scatter,
better to let your feet cut to ribbons...
and the earth to take,
we are creatures of our own demise...
bound between fates encircling hands.
Yet oh the colour...
we have never before seen such a colour,
of beyond beyond the beyond of us.
Heyhey hello dear creature who has decided to read this...
My nights are becoming so strange, but I fill them with writing and whatever other poisons I can find....to pass the long hours till morning, until it begins to feel like the dreams and sleep I catch are much the same as the time that I'm awake. Things blur...things change, and our minds deceive us. But oh how sweet the lies we feed ourselves...until we forget that they were half-truths and illusions altogether. Then the madness feeds and begins...and once you let it in, there's no back door, no way to kick out the darkness that has taken root.
Why would it leave when it knows how addicted we are to its' gloom?
For better days and nights to all of you,
Much Love...
Miss CLScarlett xx
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