SOC Writing _ 26.4.21

No where to go

I’ve to nowhere to go – mountains have burn though me and still nowhere to go. An age has passed but I do not feel it – do not dare feel you – what I am birthing has nothing to do with you – only what I am will withstand the fires of Mordor – the furnace of Golgotha – the places of tempest – unrest and unseeable violence settle deep in my cauldron.  I am a lovely scoundrel - I am a piece of unmade clay – a way the water travels – a deep fissure inside a glassy covered hill – the streams run deep in the earth and only the intrepid traveller discovers their ways – goes down to the depths to follow their curiosity – their adventure. Venture in deeper not knowing the purpose, not having plans or rules in place – this is a nowhere land living in complete flux and surrender to what only is – the this – ness of everyday happenings and becoming’s – the only lonely figure you will ever meet in your dreams is you – hold onto yourself even as life shudders like a storm wracked house inside you – even as things end and begin again, again and again – I will find you, I will hold you – feel deep inside you – clutching your heart but unable to be alone – because this life is not meant to be lived like an outpost but connected like the mycelium – the forest network – new, fecund and always connecting and talking to each other like there was no tomorrow – like there was no today. Like you and me could start things better again if we wanted to – but we don’t - we leave this now – our shuddering’s together – our deep eyes of longing, knowing and settle into the music of our own score. But I weep awhile in my sleep knowing that my heart is wounded - open to your wounding and wondering what you are thinking of me as I slip past you into the thinnest of nights.