Conversation

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Phoenix Poetry

Submitted: October 11, 2016

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Submitted: October 11, 2016

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“How was your weekend?”

 

“My weekend?…

Well, I tore through caves swamped in drowning blood and was made a coast by wicked seashells coated in their own liquid- barbaric simplicity drifted with the echoes of must that each heel kissed, awakening the beast of all apertures…the great red grape of the moons! For the only tools of man are his body and mind- they are not him! With the relinquishment of tools, I was able to craft the shape of my heart, how the seawind is my cradle, I daren’t touch with my hands -or thoughts- for the breathing ruby would choke in crumbling winds of graphite- and the endeavour would be a lifetime recitle. I visited the abyss in the pupils of my eyes and saw only light in the darkness, I quesstionned all things standing and praised all things sitting- my fleet of ships comprised of soluble minerals were stained in iron and all rusted within a second- for the sea is blue before a gasp- and with bright ivory crystals and scenes of ice, I reformed the structure of my brain. It’s as sturdy as each liquid and as weak as the solids upon Earth’s cusp. I was bored with sight so I choked upon consciousness, becoming walking plants and trees- burning in sync with the sway of ubiquitos waves of invisibility (not then!). Within the hours of the night, grapes became wine and all ice melted; birthing an infant Sun, carrying with it all light, futures and the rays of realisation- for it woke me, and as each day, I woke upon the pinnacle of my dream. My child, my Sun, spoke the words “every second you must sleep in the dream of your sleepless dreams for that is where they shall be lived, and live, and this is where you live now”. And the history of nature and the future of man was brought to me, blinding, in the form of modest darkness- under such largesses I found my dream in the form of love - on which I intend to live. 

So, my friend, how was yours?”

 

Same really…what you doing tomorrow?”

 

“Tomorrow?…

I will clasp onto the compass of a ripe heart and pray for forgiveness in due to yesterday’s faults- I shall pray in the name of science for I’m no foreign begger nor do I believe in Sin. Sin is not evil nor is it the frosts of good- but it is you, its roots entwined in the cells of your flesh and hidden in the voice of your scream heard by a lightyear’s millenia. But repentment is beautiful and is the deliverance of great illusions formed from masqueraded minds- to the approval of the one mind- but you cannot masquerade a heart! I ramble to you, humble fawn of the open wood, in short words of bullet blunts. How else do I express? But, tomorrow -like a tangled heart- is unseen and untouched…unforgiven in knotted words which, too, tangle other hearts; such words are loosened from my throat and I hang in the noose of today- now. My friend, I will not be here tomorrow…neither will you.”

 

“Oh right, fair enough…and what about tonight?”

 

“Tonight?…

I’m going to be swayed by shady, baggy garments of nighted moss green and teal coral; smuggling lampreys of innocency in Southern India - but we live in tonight forever, and here! How common plans never exist, only the fallen excitement of a flattened lesson re-taught to the masses. I shall try again to reach my blinking eyes into sinking purgatory and, with all strength, pull my awaited futures out -to breath, to feel- but I will pull the unexpected out, only flesh -I’m starting to strude the conviction- to make a human (only then will I have children). Yet sleep awaits, as well, and I will still be grasped by the bemusement of a dream and repeat, tomorrow, the conversation I wish to have but, I guess, the sounds of I will never be entwined with such speeches - are your ears raised?

All is a thousand keys rushly tested in a lock only opened by patience…

What about you?…”

 

“Probably nothing, anyway, I have to go now…”

 

“Now?

Already! But my lips have only churned exasperations of wasted breath - crystals in the flesh! Please, use your free will to reassure mine, not for the company but for mine! Parted curtains that show shying arts, await, I am-

Goodbye”

 

 

Come back! You haven’t heard me speak!!!


© Copyright 2017 Manx. All rights reserved.

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