Shuffling through in a daze of distortion and a wind of painful angst. I feel the life, love and feeling within my soul as I write on the page, and the page writes another script in my soul.
I feel the newness and the rhythm strike its chord. A gathering of things I haven’t seen is coming in the mix of what I have written and what will be. I know of what will come to fruition and will fall to the side.
These things fall, these things die. I am the prophet and the king of the fallen angels. I see the scars, craters and wounds upon the women, men and children of the land. I see their feet hiding under every bed.
I know not, where these words come from only that they come through in streams I cannot control, nor do I want to.
My writing and falling are prophetic. The child dances, the king rises, I see her face in white and his in gold. What happens when life and what becomes us and the future is never told.
Our children and theirs are not what we wish it to be. We see the dance, our dance. It is one that we wait for, strive for and no longer believe can happen.
I am the prophet, she is the queen; watch the dance and see the rhythm of it all fall in place.
Notes: There are times, like this that I have written words similar to these. These times mark a change in my life. It is only with these little bits of poetry that I have kept a tally on them. It has been a while since I’ve had one. It is long over due. My future is coming.