Sweet Things For Alicia - BlogSongs and Feathers

When does one really awake? Is it the moment a dream becomes memory? A drifting of ego between realms like a tide that unmakes a tapestry of rocks into archaic art. It is only when observed that reality succeeds to hint on its own existence, through its stiffness and hardness. A tactile proof that anything with texture may become truth, like the love of a my stray heart after encountering your touch. It is an awakening. It is a in-between. A moment before memory but after existence. A frail feather that rhymes its movements against a wind of a storm. This is where it begins. This is where it has also learned to end.

Pondering this now, I feel a lie become present. Maybe it is the sort of lie that creeps past the gates of longing in a whispering tune and takes over the throne. It is a song that unmakes. Not like the tide of awareness but like the wings of Icarus. Its promise is vast but its yield is pain. For all the music that breathes life into me and helps summon the spirits that uplift structures of awe and wonder. A slimy thing tunes out of this symphony and strikes true to its target. The lie is wrapping a terror in me, a fear that masquerades as a boom.

But what is a feather without its rhythm? What is a song without its purpose? What if all of this makes only sense if the strength of a feather goes ways beyond the wrath of a storm? How ridiculous, that thought is. But poetry thrives in the absurd like a feather might teach a storm to dance through its own song. A truer song. Then the fear may melt into place and offer the sky some tears as this musical of absolute harmony finds a place for its dance.

It finds your warmth and your bravery, the strength of a thousand gods that lifts each one of your promises to light. There is no warrior like you, my love. Through the dementia of my fear and the strangling depths of my denial I become aware in the aftermath of this fight. I become awake and I see that I was never in slumber. That this world had birthed me in the wrong in-between.

I place my trust in you. And I let the sky cry for my forgiveness. I do not claim to be of poetry or of sorrow or of the shallow depths of a sea that await to breathe air. But I do claim to be yours forever, for I see that it is my only chance to become real.

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