Sunday, July 17, 2011

Hymn of the Aftermath.

The circus is closing and my face is still painted in ashes from the skyline of fallout painted by jet planes.

Do you like the feeling you lost, do you long for it so?

I remember when we were 12 and I fell in love with your performance and how graceful you were on the stage, I fell in love and I fell for the song of whistles and propellers that shattered the blue and left me screaming for more.

I whispered in the wind, one word in your precious ear: Love.

And let this be known as I walk away from the wreckage of a fallen Ferris Wheel that I spun the clock back another age and let the car crash into trees that were all too eager to tell our story.

And the earth, she is still our Mother, the mountains our brothers and the tides are our cousins and the stars are our Father who art in Heaven and hallowed be His name and blessed are the meek for we shall inherit the earth, our Mother.

And as she spun more tales of rapture and essence in the wake of her demise, the sun drew upon us to lend meaning to it all, that our days are not numbered lest we count.

But my heart it still flutters and mayday is still upon us and guns will blaze and fires will burn and hearts will yearn for the closeness we shared in one performance as Mother Earth quaked her last.

This isn’t an end. This is a final send-off where we take to the stars and our souls embark on the journey, a flightpath of angels and love and truth and beauty.

For so long as we sing, tell these old tales, and allow ourselves the freedom that only caged birds can bring…

We shall ascend.

Hallelujah.

END TRANSMISSION.

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