Origins II
From afar, a green sea;
up close, a twisted snarl of brittle waves.
textured walls reach out and oppress
mildew whips of flora flotsam fauna jetsam in my face
echoing shadows follow in waking eddies
shrill light on a myriad of eyelids that flutter as I pass.
MY BROTHERS.
blind fingertips of rain stream in my eyes, as cacophonous shadows lead me through improbable passages the naked eye cannot discern;
bathed in clarion surges of gold, a seabed of mist reflected from the deep.
This is the cauldron...
my arms reach out painfully to scoop up blind tears in the green sea, but a faceless monstrosity wails in solitude, denser and denser as I go, oppressed heartbeat of light through tall trees.
Breathless, bursting, cords of light fall from the heights, he then fell and his eyes filled with sand.
MY BROTHERS --- there cannot be one when there is one because without two, there are no numbers, and the one is no one and everyone --- fraternal eternal -- and rebirth billows through the mist in a distant voice, beckoning me on.
The Cauldron...
Copyright © Chris Johnston | Year Posted 2021
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