SOC Writing _ 12.4.21

All that glitters is not gold

The thing you were sold, not your soul. In the maddening crowd you move like a lioness – eyes flashing – gaze low but fire in your eyes – always a slow simmering fire – that wants somewhere – someone to explode – sparks driving like rain - like blackness – like a torrent of beauty and pain – showering like a dark angel with colourful wings – looking down over your old town you can see the streets wet with rain – you long for this place – the homely places that fit exactly into your soul – have the make up exactly as you would have it. Spying you now I am brought to some magical interest – who are you? what are you doing? where is your fire and life? And the music plans on and on and you dance and are upset and happy all at once – a smile - that smile that takes awhile – has so many suitors that come in wanting, wanting, not what you want but now I see the quality of greatness – the power of a whole pride of dark cats – the fat of their kill feeding their babies – I do not want anything – but everything - the old ways have gone and in their place a new energy that says, come and play with me – rule your world with me – take me to places you have not shown anyone else – let me be your undoing – and undoing the strap – loosening the silver cord so we can fly higher – see the horizon and beyond into the black whole that brings another dimensionality of seeing, being, feeling, communicating. On the black and red night walls of your loft I have caught sight of your silence – can be at home here – just as the glimmer in your eyes lights the room up like a thunderstorm – this is magic, and the only way out is through the window. X