- Vol. 10
- Chapter 04
I could write you a poem;
about an Emerald sky
about sunsets and nights rising
and the glints of light forming disco ball distortions in Winter air.
And I'm aware the metaphors read like an infant school play
so young, so idealistic
as reflections of the moon
of months passed
dance in the peripheral
and you're basking under it
bathing in it
the realisation that
yeah, you've got it kind of good.
As you watch the world burn beneath a mask
as fumes dance with fire, inhaled and infiltrated,
an audience consumed by the shock –
and then the horror.
But I won't.
We stand and we wait,
overlooking the stirrings of an abyss,
our testimonies wavering,
doubt a mere pool of salivation at our feet.
We don't voice our words,
but maybe that's 'cause we're considering our actions.
The stage directions are not quite directing so come on,
get it together, people
– have you not heard of improv?
March to this and breathe it in …
This world will burn but darling, that's our cue to rise.
Inhale the smoke, exhale the fire –
singed lungs aspirating in harmony.
It's nights transpiring salvation and days submerged in shot cups of supercuts,
final decisions and the alleviated hesitation that y'know what?
Let's do it
let's dive into the abyss
let's leave the masks behind
this city is burning, bourgeoning into darkness –
let's set the stage alight
let's light our own way home.