Poetry

Step 19 (79.)

Tracks lead to an obelisk,
and proceed up its face. I look around,
shrug, and follow my companion toward the sky.
My furry friend sits near the tip of the structure.
Their eyes are closed, and they breathe
in time with the wind.
Air rustles my clothes, and my thoughts start to move
when the raccoon turns to me.
Their green eye opens.
Something passes between that green eye and my mind,
an outpouring of thoughts and expressions
that mingles with my own
and coalesces to something else.
Listen, a new voice says, and you will speak better.
Green eye closes, my mind continues its course,
and then, the inevitable:
the red eye opens.
Immediately I am seized by visions
normally waiting on the edge of my consciousness:
frenetic fighting, swords and spears clanging all over,
blood coating all manner of surfaces,
labored breathing, sad compulsions,
a violet violent dance in which we all perform.
It is in the air, every day,
it is in our brains, many ways,
yet we all move forward despite immense pain.
This is the existential struggle.
This is the trouble undertaken by all those who live.
What better way to demonstrate peace
than withstanding an onslaught of harm?
Red eye closes, raccoon stands.
They leap from the obelisk, and I
follow fur.
Into the sky I fall,
to join that black-and-blue
beauty of a crow.

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