A lucky guess would be…
That no one knows what they are looking for.
An initiation from the quiet among earth-tone debris.
Yet, without provocation, a suspect and chaotic sound from hidden hierarchy.
Perhaps, just a faded notion…
And, not a one is looking for anything.
Ideal life is simply stirred into commotion.
In reference to another life, I heard that, IT would always be something.
A hiccup, a laugh…
or, poorly chosen path.
A manner for chaos to collide.
And, my body, tossed to one side.
Could the specter have been…
a Caroler or poet?
To this day, I am really not sure which.
But deep in the rosy flower of my heart.
A road appears sunlit.
Whilst the foliage be stark.
Wondrous and awful are thy silent halls,
O kingdom of the past!
There lie the bygone ages in their palls,
Guarded by shadows vast;
There all is hushed and breathless,
Save when some image of old error falls
Earth worshiped once as deathless.
And, if sometimes a moaning wander-eth
From out thy desolate halls,
If some grim shadow of thy living death
Across our sunshine falls
And, scares the world to error,
The eternal life sends forth melodious breath
To chase the misty terror.
No mastery, no mystery, just a grand sense of entitlement.
Going about things…the hard way.
Yet, arriving with brilliant gesture.
Calamity between celestial beings and arctic ground.
Fallen angels…being the solo sound.
First storm…blanket of so white.
Basking in the glory.
Masking the chaos…
For when a second wind comes round again.