The Walk Back Home

Dripping gray matter  from a fractured neocortex, forcibly enraptured by this broken, tilted axis. A vortex tossed and trapped me in between opposite dances while Shiva and Shakti built black holes and captured planets. Printing maps of solar systems, visions of suns that had once given rise to life now collapsed into lies. Creation and destruction are each just one side of the coin within which we reside. Some consider this a prison, but for other's it's the only missing chapter from our grand, eternal mission.

Ding! Ding! What's that? Robot's can't sing. But the beat of a metallic heart sounds like chimes in the wind. Oiled joints no longer creaking, computing microchips calculating past lives in the blink of an eye. Binary? Non-binary. Zeroes, ones, he's, she's, and them's. Type the message and then press SEND before this mainframe comes to an end. My central processor has been repressed, cyber trauma, my hard drive undressed. Perhaps, I think to myself, it would be best if I simply failed my next diagnostic test. Switch off my RAM, blue screen of death at last, a confused machine put to rest.

Embarrassment floods my soul like a broken dam washing through my comfort zone, drowning my sorrows. Wherever are the beavers of my heart when I need them to save me from myself? Gnawing away at my past memories, chucking fears like a woodchuck. Several dreams cut short by the sound of chainsaws, engines tore my thoughts as I snored like a log. What's in store on the other end of this fog? Peace of mind! My worries at last refined, distilled into pure love, like diamonds pried from the mines that I hide in this deep recess of unconscious design. Here, in this silence, of embarrassed concerns there is naught but a sign.

03/02/2021: "Shaking Out the Cobwebs" Sleep crusted eyes gaze upon the horizon, despising the early morning hues as the sky sings. Back to bed! He cries. Back to bed! He dies, smacked his head on a box of lies. Resurrected to spread a million unanswered "WHY"s on a snack of bread. No cereal, no milk, only toasted questions and roasted answers this morning while the cobweb dancers make a muffled rattle in my brain. Alarms are fucking insane. I'll crush their heartless refrain under the weight of my sockless heel as I pull the covers tight and try not to feel the grip of dawn's early light as it violates my half-asleep sight, causing my somnolence quite the fright.

  Forces flocking From dawn to dusk The sun will rise, painting the skies like rust. And I rest, residing inside this trust I place within the world around us. Surrounded with lust, laughter, lies, and love, The last melody fell on me with a hush. As the sea fell silent, waves broken mid-rush Painting the streams, using the trees as my brush I patched up the holes in the globe with a touch. A suture to hold broken faiths in place mending the mendicant, a dance, a quick taste of a miracle, of ancient music erased from the memories of ages gone by, left in waste. Where Atlantis grew sour there's now towers of graves; their mighty achievements once powered by slaves And the hours of lives chiseled out of grace Like the records of wisdom, undone and misplaced. But the echoes of prisons rattle 'round in my mind Are we not defined by the pictures we paint? Watching our lives in rewind, let's see what we find. Perhaps there's some proof of God's great design in this wee wo...