Flying

beach.jpg

In the basement, the last room on the left, she sleeps under the shadows of a twisted patriarchy.

Her wounds heal quickly. Her flesh still unaffected by the the linear vacuum of time.

Her heart beats in sync to her mothers' - a soul's commitment that burns in the crematorium of broken archetypes.

Bound by authority she takes it to bed with her and promises to fight anyone for this shattered piece of stardust.

Her dreams hold ceremonies under the opal moon whispering intuition into her lungs, but she's too afraid to breathe.

A warrior of broken dreams, she builds a castle around her heart.

There were few who could penetrate their way through the labrynth of disassociated words and actions. The ones who tried were banished to a lifetime of riddles and uncertainty; their only release, her red box of mechanical clocks.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

They were building time, manifesting horoscopes, and creating an army of roses.

The summer was hiding in her lungs and she began to breathe rhythm and music.  Each note held the promise of a future blossoming; if only her heart would bleed sunshine.

He twisted his artificial light into the snares of her black lit canopy.  The illusion of shooting stars permeated her consciousness until she surrendered the keeper of the Isis light.

Stardust sprinkled on his dusty soul and he danced in the playground of her Ocean. Gleefully he swam to the depths of black sand where  a breeze caressed the tentacles of a weeping willow.

A branch ensnared his mechanical love muscle, but the boy was a daredevil dressed in all black and the shadows blended into his borders.

Fingers and toes thrashing through a Sea of serotonin, the boy surfaced with roots in his pocket. Too afraid to tell her, he gasped for a breath of delight and waited for the second hand to strike down on the rib cage of her flesh.

He timed it perfectly, but wounds no longer healed as quickly, and the voodoo drum had found its player.  Life lines beat down on the hyde of an animal he used to be in an attempt to honour his secrets.

Louder and louder they played in sync until fear was the only instrument that could break their concentration.

Fragile and naked, their bones found solace in cracking.

A forest grew between the space of rivers, lakes and oceans and she waited in a winter's hurricane.

I suppose they got lost down the corridors of a metastasized paradigm; his humanity tangled in the fishing lines of patriarchies promise.

As the last snowflake landed on her cheek and cried solitary circumstances, she heard the sigh of a thousand orphaned children.  It came from the basement, the last door on the right, her room vanishing like a magic trick.

She saluted the clouds for the space between her bones that could no longer hold her Spirit.  The euphemisms of truth died and she was set free and flying in a blaze of iridescent light.