17 June 2007

Burn, Burn Burn

Burn the light into midnight hours, scratching the things that make me whole. Etchings in time, in stone, on paper, writing with wine and blood and fluids of life and something else.

Hit the dark at a dead run, like a brick to my head, like ice water on my face. Keep running. Can't stop now because I'll get enveloped. Sometimes it's nice to be enveloped by the warm things in life. By a body or a voice, or some words in a void. But I have got to escape this embrace to run into that one. And it isn't always easy.

Burn the night through the daylight hours, moving through places I wish I had never seen. It echoes a remembrance of who I was, and fortells who I might be. Destinations change, a spectrum of possibilities.

It's all a blur as I race down the tunnel, blood singing in my head. It sings the primal songs of humanity, and it sings a dirty epic of change. And then I hit something that makes it so, and I fall into a softness that almost makes me forget where I am going. But it picks me up and pushes me on, and follows me and makes me. Moving faster than ever before. Harder. More.

Burn these days though the well lit hours. Going forward and never back, though remembering carefully how it was in the dark.

Things can only get better from here. . . . . ~ Inspira

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