Transcending stair
Song sung and melody rung.
You know that timeless trail that opens up before
us sometimes, That great staircase of colored
patterns, glowing yellow with a halo that can't be
wrong.
Taking that step and walking right out of a starry
night and finding soft pure tones, blues and clouds
that billow precisely. And always those perfect halos.
Green fields, the sound of chirping birds. Far removed
from the black chaos which earlier consumed.
Criss-crossed streaks of blacks and reds, cutting away
a gloomy vision, razor sharp streaks which divide the
world.
How painful it was to have that world divided,
clawed and gouged, a mockery of the pristine nature
that lay so close at hand. Ascending the staircase,
stomp the feet and shake your fists. The rhythm and
dance that allows one to ascend.
My time before this, an eternity if you will. I saw the
smoke of a million guns, blaze the night, dropping
scores of mortal men on whims. Their souls and bodies
already bleeding from the whips which drove them forth.
Stern stone faced men, it seems now as we ascend.
But I remember being among them. Dirty and tattered,
I've spent centuries in haze, in daze, on forlorn streets,
shoeing off the rats, inhaling sweet the stench and sweat
of men, all of us wrapped and covered in disease.
Those long nights at Hallows house, with needles in my
arm. Temporary visions of the pattern, leaving with the
dawn. Doing more to keep those visions lasting longer on.
I've raised my guns and let men drop. And held
them as they died. To late to patch the wound, the
pleading in their eyes. Those tears they dropped.
Nothing hurts me more than that pleading in their eyes.
And days have passed, in which I can not recollect,
to weak to move, to raise my head, sometimes to weak
for breath. Those times I died, then somewhere knew
I once again was left, ah..... on this cold forsaken rock,
where the sun shines only to mock our living death.
But long past, those days are behind us now as we
ascend the stair and dance our trail along. More divers,
and options lay on patterns under our feet.
To return or stay, to come and go. We do these as
we please. All may do this, We of silver seed.
Moving on seems a necessity for me now. But if we
all stopped at once and looked around, and helped the
world become as some have seen. The golden halos,
azure skies. ah.... Then I wouldn't have to leave.
Who am I to ask the world to bend as some have
seen? I drop the weight and bow my head to each I
meet. Tired of strife, and allowing giants like god
and hell to make me bleed. I am simply me. Dreams
to not let bullies and spirits large impose their fates on
me. To much to ask.... of giant gods.. to let a simple
flower be.