We entered into agreement, we’d survive or perish. Life is meant for decrees, canons, precepts.
I fret the magic of it all. I imagine having an understanding of heaven—not goodness, nor badness, just pure activity. Something etching at its surface; something corporeal-incorporeal;
something (humanly) celestial. If needing an invitation, go inside the inner comedian: forgive the cliché. In seeing a glimpse, it removes naivety, it leads some into waging wars; an appetite for Invisibility, nor an understanding of full-on nonexistence, with shadows inverting, light
sprouting meadows, a slant into its forests, an art for making errors. We entered into agreement, if to perish at life, we’d go together. What a parent will do to rescue a child; to joke over harsh weather, to decree a miracle, to make with existence a reason to persevere. While drums are
beating, I see her image, I tap into her anger, her voice. As a composition into the universe the art of tribes the ghosts of antiquity; such an old spirit, so familiar, searching for certain remembrance, looking for family, delving deeper into disbelief. (To chide a wraith!) I was eager
to enter into agreement—too young to fathom agreement, too innocent to see emptiness. What would happen if agreement was shattered and one was left to live without faith? The agreement was predicated on understanding the agreement. Such mileage and devastation—so many disputes, living life according to pledge and nightmare. While growing swiftly, quicker into a
person, a conglomerate of many influences—trees and bark, branches and leaves, passion and dynasty. Fresh winds, gusts into atmosphere, seeing reflection, knowing it comes back around. Wildness. Such penalty seeking closure. To have saw it clearly until clarity departed. One should
pride an agreement, not envy its freedom. To have received it and walked into it. To have loved it until it deteriorated. Those close vibes dying in false exercise. The repercussion of first encounter—by its dream of perfection, to need a belief made solid in skies. To face excellence, in
its behavior, a feeling most inappropriate. To let it go—to stop here—to have said little on the matter.
