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Xallan Sep 2019
Your question has been heard. The wilderness answered.

The wilderness sipped at all exposed veins,
slapped every exposed limb,
kissed each individual cell even if concealed.
Nature is insidious.

The dawn descended from under the soles of the feet, up from inside the earth.
Gargoyles turned back to stone,
dinosaurs became plastic figures,
demons retreated into the shadows
and recesses of the mind.
The night brought the wonder of imagination
to all the suspicions of day.
Dawn restores humanity to ******* eyes.

Upon the collapse of day,
wildness reigned.
The wilderness surrounded every artificially lit step,
just beyond the brilliant ring of certainty.
Light is a barrier created by
the eyes for the world.

Emotions leave the body at night.
The earth leached them back into the bloodstream in fear of the sun,
restoring urgency and certainty and purpose.
Dusk chased dignity to tombstone mirrors.

When the last bright clouds disappeared like smoke from a dying ember,
from an ashy joint,
the night drew out every emotion
and gave it a form,
with wings. They grew teeth for biting,
tongues for swallowing,
throats for singing.
We were left here,
among branches and thorns,
toothless and boneless
and without wings.

We were made in defiance of nature.
We identify with the stars and use clouds to make cars. Our minds are quicksand and oobleck. Slip and solidify and astoud,
at once soft and hard.
We attempt to tame the wilderness within.

We were made with
the purpose of creating a world to our liking.
We must live, must do, must be.
We must create
more than thought,
think more. We must realize our dreams
in defiance of nature.

We dreamt ourselves machines.
Our machines will dream themselves human.
Nature does not dream, it does not ever sleep.
It cries and throws its fits of anger
with broken oceans
fluid mountains
shattered storms.
It demands we answer its question:
Will humanity stop dreaming?
Xallan Jul 2019
We like to credit the mothers and fathers
For a world full of broken children.

Volatile individuals who disappeared, vanished
Leaving more broken people behind to fill their holes
Leaving nonexistence.

They gave the world to their children
Like they gave the future of all the children into his palms
His palms are soft, defined by lack of wear, by absence of fear.

Palms that carry a psychological burden.
Defined by folds and wrinkles and lines which twist and deviate like choices he will make
Family heirlooms that have crashed to the floor with the swipe of a careless hand

So when he held the vase he felt the weight of the missing ceramic shards and learned
You can't fill broken things with more emptiness
Or define integrity by cracks which twist and deviate like the choices he made.

He doesn't want to have the hands that press the red button
He's thinking about the children, he's thinking
About being a child.
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