SOC Writing _ 7.8.21

Star

And so you go. I wait – head in hands for what? For tears, for fears to surface – for the unspoken – for everything that is lost in me – longing, longing to be found - and you are going. My subterranean creature is squirming, moving like the Aya – asking for something, a dull, muted voice like one lost in a vast chamber with no way to be found. But this has been a journey, a search for what want to be, must be found and in the ground – the pit, the chasm, the pool of everlasting life – I am – I be – the big, hairy man – the king of a vast kingdom – disguised as a wild, lost, hated man. As the boy with the golden orb beckons you – the king child with a golden scar on this cheek is slowing waking - stealing keys from behind his mothers pillow - setting out on his own journey away from the comfort of the castle and those who supposedly have his best interests at heart – the only best interests are woven into this, my own beating, bleeding heart – they are never with others – never elsewhere – now the time to realise this truth and come upon it – the bright golden locks of hair fall and you are completely spotted – your disguise broken by the sun and the stare of the young princess – Icarus has fallen again his wings too close to the sun – as I put my hands in the earth – pit of clay to hold nutrient for tree and fruit – your hand reaches in with blood mingled with seed and I am aghast, agog and lost in the myriad of what’s happening – and what is not happening – what is happing? I am asking my heart, the wild man – not you fucks out there – be done with the wonder and worries of the therapist – the friends and parents – but down the rabbits hole as far down as I have managed – I come upon a feast set just for me and there you are sitting at table waiting. Waiting.