emmengard

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Lightening strikes in the storm,
A flashbulb in the darkness
All around the valley the hills stand,
Stark and clear, against the dark swirling clouds,
And the yawning maw of night.

You hold onto it, that image:
The world perfectly as it should be,
Solid and clear.

The gnashing of thunder,
The patter of rain,
Everything is a watercolor painting,
Everything bleeding into everything else.

But I remember,
I remember the flash:
The feral animal doesn't need to fear the hand that reaches out.
Not anymore.
The old story is finished,
That chapter is closed.

But we weep anyway,
Tears like rivers.

It's okay, dear, it's going to be okay.
You don't need to be so afraid, now.

Do we cry at such kindness?
Or at realizing how afraid, how feral we had become?

-Sylvia

Dreams feel like waking and waking feels like dreams,
Standing in the doorway between worlds I no longer care which is the real one...
or the realer one.

I lost my name somewhere,
Standing between worlds.
I became a hundred other names.
I met you all there in that nameless place and shared your names
as a fish in a school shares the current.
I miss, already, such closeness to you.

Already the world of solid things and words, like shackles, contain me.
Such simple words.
I
You
Solid walls, built up with simple stones.

I yearn for the land of ether and mist.
I wish never to return from there.

They call that country madness
But they are the experts in words,
Words that outline the bare extierior and leave the center hollow and howling.
Madness seems a better place entirely.

-Sylvia