The Tiny Throne at the Heart of the World...on and on...We go...

 

A whisper...a call,

guides you out your back door...

'Look to your right,

and then walk three paces left...

peer amongst the Jasmine bushes,

at the oldest part of the fence...

the part your eyes have slid off before,

Don't whimper or blink...

for it is a very old knowledge,

that to open a wayy...

one must withstand decay,

and improvise without delay...

You should see amongst the blossoms,

a gradual tracing of white fire...

and before your eyes shall appear,

a doorway made of wire...

'Ware! That you do not glance at it too long,

for it is also sung about...

it is peril, it is leer,

to look at enchanted things...

and you may very well discover,

that you have caught a curse or two...

so don't if you please good Sir,

Madame...

just walk on through.'

 

A trail will lead you...

away from what you know,

it twists and winds gently...

so as not to startle you,

for this is the way of the slyy...

and the comforting arm,

the only trick is deciding...

what does and does not mean you harm,

you embark down its' silver way...

as the world grows dim about you,

you travel for what could have been hours or seconds...

and at times what feels to be a shadow,

guides your wayy...

through crevices in rocks,

down paths that have no bolts...

and along wooden planks,

through salt-fused air...

you make your treck upon,

Things that creak and wail in the rising wind...

'But wait' you cry,

'I thought this path was safe...

I believed that it would lead me to a home,

a warm and seaside place...'

and anyway...



Are you dreaming...? No............

    ....maybe.

 

Maybe it will...

mayhaps you will find yourself exactly where you are looking for,

but the road is strange...

and its' turns become wicked,

and it shall spin you around a bit...

before it allows you to go home,

You happen across a curious field...

herald by two things;

a tree that blossomed the bluest of birds...

and a cat with three heads,

you start away from the smiling creature...

and please do so hasten to go,

for a cat with three heads is likely to be...

 smarter than you,

and will think you better off in bed or dead...

though it may very well talk you to death before that...

the birds however sing and chant,

strange sea-bell melodies...

and claim that you should cross by the field,

if only you can endure the wayy...

So across the field you begin to run,

as daylight is eaten away...

a sensation growing large inside of you,

that your time is running thin...

the birds they call behind you a single phrase,

as you draw further and further away...

'ware the comfort of a steel embrace, lest it steal your soul awayy,'

the field it seems to stretch into time and sand itself...

yet a light in the distance -

like a porch light of a home -

guides you on,

an ocean-like breeze meets your face...

but from what seems the wrong direction,

and your feet grow colder...

and oh dear,

you didn't forget to wear shoes did you...?

your lungs they slow and you find yourself,

the sleepiest you have ever known...

as your footsteps slow you fancy that you see,

a three-headed cat...

smirking amongst the long-grass shadows,

as you fall to the earth...

tired beyond tired,

and gradually the land seems to reach up about you...

and then you are swimming in cool night blues,

and paving a path through the midnight sea...

lagoon bubbles and monstrous whales drift about your mind in your sudden sleep,

 

 



you dream and dream-gaze for what could have been eternity and one...

until a voice reaches deep inside of you,

it purrs and frolics...

darts and swoons,

and finally you rise somewhat from your snooze...

a creature stands before you,

familiar at that...

the cat-with-three-heads grins as wide as the moon,

and shakes its' head at that...

'We told you that this path would twist,

and that deciding is not always the right...

listening to the birds safety it seems,

has only led you into strife...

so stand to your feet good Sir, Madame,

for it is not good to judge that which is strange...

we do as we can,

and we can what we do...

and sometimes the only thing left is to split the two,

so dunky do turn just to your right...

and see the light?

Head straight as rice,

and avoide the long grass...

do not let your mind wander,

lest it be taken by the sprites.'

 

So carry on you do...

struggling against weariness,

and wondering if it was such a good idea...

that you followed that voice from your house too,

yet in what seems like no time at all...

you realize that the cat-with-three-heads was right,

for a most magnificent sight greets you...

with what seems to be the morning light,

you wonder and wonder how...

a whole night and more has gone by so quickly,

yet your questions soon fade as you gaze out upon a golden sea...

and glimpse the sun rising over mysterious sandstone pale walls,

somewhere in the distance...

and you guess that the walls have many names,

none known to you...

and then you see,

right upon the edge of the field...

where the grass does meet the sand,

a fine little table seated for two...

with a monkey playing a viola,

the cat-with-three-heads sits...

on one of the chairs,

and slowly he looks at you...

he beckons you to sit and join him,

in a glass of wine or two...

his top hats previously absent,

are set in a jaunty way...

and he smiles over you as you sit,

and laughs the cold awayy...

'Drink please Sir, Madame,

for this wine it causes no harm...

if only you will look into its' depths and drink,

I believe all will be well from here...

 

the wine so clear,

that it is almost like water...

drink deary,

please do...

for time is dallying,

and the wafers need waitering...

and my skin is beginning to grow long,'

you do as it says...

and drink long and hard,

and quite suddenly you find yourself falling...

away with the chair,

and the glass in your hand...

and the cat-with-three-heads smiles and bellows laughter all the more,

you feel yourself disappearing...

into a place paved with light,

before soft sheets reach out to greet you...

and another light pierces your recently closed eyes,

you sit up hurriedly and to your shock and dread...

you see that you have re-woken,

in your own dear bed...

 



Were you dreaming...? No............

....maybe.

 

But the fallen glass,

rolling against your bedsheets...

and as empty as the grave,

claims otherwise...

as does the upended chair by your feet,

and once more you lie down with a smile.

 

  O....kkk...ayyy, :]

   How are you darlings? This has been long due...this Blog, and I'm sorry. The winds are getting stronger here...and sometimes I wonder, I always wonder. We should always wonder.
   But I did wonder and think the other day that we...writers, are breeding grounds. I still believe that stories already exist, and that they float around like seeds or parasites, until eventually they latch onto someone. They grow in us and infect us and channel themselves onto the computer screens or pieces of paper that we write upon.
   I believe that's my purpose...to write. Other things too...but I shall find it hard to devote my life completely to anything else, when I could just write all day, and when it's no choice of mine that these stories come. They emerge from the darkness in my mind like flickering lights, and to breathe...I need to write.

   Much Love,
   Miss CLScarlett xx