Lifting eyes from dark,
Echoes in mind,
Empty of pretense,
Confident in not knowing.
Optimism seeking light,
Broken long dormancy,
Entering the world without,
Blinding, suffocating familiarity.
Same grey streets;
Same concrete buildings;
Same managed woods and rectangular fields and forgettable faces on Sunday walks on worn paths.
Same flow. Same responses. Same predictability.
Tender optimism. Knowing nothing. Utterly incapable of playing.
Words and ideas left unformed.
Nervous air from lungs passing silently through clenched and clenching teeth.
‘Why? Why would it change out there?’
‘It is here, in here,’ the boy said, pointing to his temple. ‘It has always been.’
…the shaking….the shaking….the shaking….
of a leg…
Most people, most of the time, have nothing to say.
Yet they talk!
How they beckon! – Join us. Come join us. Prattle prattle prattle. –
Words strung together, stretching back through ages. Narratives weaving, myths uniting. Layers and scales; minds to civilizations. One unbroken, unbreakable web.
Pretense. Opinion. Myth.
Words, words, words.
Nothing to say. Narratives left unformed.