Hand in Hand
I have begun to understand life through this torture that is anxiety; I have begun to understand life. No it is not the fire or ruin, the smoldering of ash or the imagery of a poetic mind, but it is death, the slow wintering of a soul with no spring. The force of life buried so deep no rise marks its final bed of slumber. It comes to all dramatic but silent and it holds no medals for the romantics. If only to see a soul turn steel and blue, it is death. Alone and waiting it seeks out life to hold it. Without life it is forgotten, it is jealousy. The fear of being alone drives death even as we seek meaning in our own life, death, too, must have a meaning to live. Yes death is alive and in us all waiting, watching, growing angry. We have something it wants, it longs for, it needs. We have life.
Clang, Clang, Clang the dragon breaths again Clang, Clang, Clang claws gold fangs burning red. Devour, Devour water won’t quench, this melting drowning riving hunger; slay this beast with its belly of fire. It’s very destruction a means to an end Devour, Devour, Devour. Swim through blackened blood and bathe in the fire. The dragon is only a means to devour. Your hatred your weary your plague and plight Devour, Devour, Devour
Regret seeps over cries for help; the sky throws waves of warmth. Alone two purple flowers stand. One is bright, new and young; while the other is bleached from the ageing days. Sleep, sleep on like the lazy field grasses around you, bend and wilt; pass this day quietly by you. Maybe tomorrow won’t be so dry.