On Wings

January 3, 2014
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Cold, indistinguishable. Voices. One. One of them.
One sharp report.
Let it lie. Let it fly.
Not blinded, bound.
The sights staring me down.
Holes into me, holes, drilling and killing.
With eyes, not bullets.
The keenest color they have. Silver, like the currency of execution.
A monotonous speech. The voice of an ender. The voice of golden buttons, reflective shoes.
Voices and words, more voices, more words. Not cruel words. Cruel man.
Pay attention. Look for a while, just once more, or perhaps many.
Ready . . .!
No, I am not ready. I want to steal away his breath, steal his voice, and shout.
Aim . . .!
More silver flashes, curses towards the heavens.
Not blinded, not shielded. Tied, tied around the joints, joining me to me.
Fire . . .!
Explosions. Put out the fire. Snuff the fire.

God help me.

The rushing sound of the water in my ears, drowning out the pain that is already dulling.
And the memories of all my yesterdays.
All were blurred.
Sucked away, caught in a feverish vortex.

Sudden arrest of motion snaps the neck that isn’t there, and paints the black with translucent colors.
And restored, back again, here with the lost souls of forgotten earthly concerns.
Diamonds, swirling and weaving. Rubies like crimson flesh. Emeralds, greener pastures.
All of it, all in one, all of it was definite.
It shone through spaces, it was here, and real. So touchable.

Rapidity shook the bones, cracked and severed the heart.
Detached the veins, cut like cords.
But the soul flew away, on the wings of a white bird towards
Something more opulent.

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