Sometimes you scare me. I walk in that black door and you are there no more. Just yesterday’s news, trying to try me on for size in its uncomfortable clown shoes. I don’t fit in.I don’t come here to want to be bad and black and molested and attacked. I don’t, I don’t, I don’t. There is a place that takes its place beyond that open corridor. Where the goblins leave, and the lace unfolds, and the place that holds its eternity is visible. To see you there would be a blessing, a joy that creeps into my heart and rips it apart, without tearing. Not the kind that leaves a piece of me behind, but the one that comes undone with all its astonishment intact. I don’t want to leave you behind. Any of you, but you will have your time, as I have mine. The individualism of us each coming to roost, in our own year of reverence.

Someone killed a butterfly and I asked them why. They said they didn’t know, it was so long ago. It stormed me deep inside, and I wanted to float a trillion of them into the sky, butterflies renewed, ignorance subdued.  There is a place where evil things cross the barrier with greatness. It causes self destruction and construction of man-made things across nature’s plains that have no greater gain. It pains me, when I let it. I must forget it. It challenges the forces of nature to put them in their place, and laughs an egoic howl when it gets its way. Power and control for tiny men.

I say Amen. Let the wild woes of chaos come to bend around the dusty corners of the mind, that have no space to see the time they ill spend. I want amends. The change for greater things that are beyond this constant ring of bells and whistles, not the trumpets of victory that one can see when the black door opens and you exit from its inside. Place me in a place where this dreamy state holds grace and I will want for better things, piano keys and dancing nymphs that muse the earth with fluttered wings whose music can be heard beyond the earth, as this is where they come from. Grace me not to be forgot amongst the dark and weary, where the song they play is the same as yesterday and the channel changer is engraved with greasy fingerprints.

Release me then. Take me to heaven, while I walk this stale and windy gait. Open the door, where the white wind blows and the gale of night glows in thundering might toward the swinging door of my mind, and spans it open. Widely. Wildly. Worthy of me. Let me be your wandering son, come home to rest my weary head upon your cushioned world of clouded ecstasy.  Forgive me.  I come to find the home I love through the black door. You are waiting for me, at the front.