Fences
Implanted spines mocking, the gentle sway of a limb, the
sigh of a breath, in their regimented lines. Bristling in the natural world as
only artificial can. The implanted spines are corroding our grip on the land.
We are spineless as we stitch this intricate fabric into
little shapes, define them with a name and use them at our will. We have hearts
as we nurture each shape, reaping what we sow but always sowing for the future.
Red
There’s only so much death you can see in a day before
you look at the world and think ‘what a cruel cold place’.
Such a cold world as the warmth seeping from you
congeals, slowly becoming cold and still. This world leaches our life force. We
fight just to live.
We cover ourselves in warmth hoping it will seep into us
to dispel our fear of the cold. Hoping it will stop world’s cruel wind sapping
our warmth and our life force. Hoping we live.
We seek red! Red is warmth, is fire and passion, is a
beating heart, is love, is blood and so it is life. Red is the opposite of
death... we all fear death, fear the cold and stiff where there is no red. I
feel I almost understand our hunt for love. Finding someone who can give us red
for eternity. Someone who can cover us in red and dispel the cold, stop the
world’s wind making us fall before it, stop it making us freeze for eternity
and so we believe in heaven or reincarnation because if the cold isn't for
eternity it is no longer scary. We live to remove our fears, and to remove the
cold with red things does that.
Red is love and beliefs, is pumping blood, is passion and
fire, is feeling things to our core. Red defies death, opposes cold and
sustains us.
Today I saw no red, merely the aftermath of lives that could
not contain red, could not hold red to themselves. And so I hunt for red.
Lambs
The lamb gambols, the wind whispers, the duckling paddles.
And the sun, the sun gets to reflect upon it all.
Birds
The tail feathers draped over the gutters edge, flitting
this way and that. A slight metallic clinking of claws against the
corrugations. The bass line to the melodious trills trumpeted to the world. He
heralds, then takes flight soaring above the gravity of this world below him.
He is not given it nor does he borrow it, he takes it for
himself and defies the weight of the world. He is his own master.
Trees
Watching the gentle grace of majestic boughs courting one
another with stately bows beneath the winds watchful eye, the youths sweeping
low to the ground before the aged holding sway at lofty heights. The aged take
care not to offend the winds for fear of being torn from their stately
position.
