|Striding towards the storm.
||[Jul. 14th, 2018|11:16 am]
The bitter storm rages before me, now the light and sky change from a clear blue to twisted toroids of dark and bitter color.|
Fretting not these storms have pained me before, they have quieted future pain their scars have calloused my soul. Moving towards and not away from the tempest there is no where to run we are all on deaths ground.
There is no past to speak of only the planned and unknown future. A boot raises and steps forward past the last boot. The rain of the storm is now gently dancing as the storm screams forward, the sky is full of foreboding nights lightning.
There is only forward into the hard rains and hail, there is nowhere no cover so forward we move into the pain.
The crepuscular luminance cracking and twinkling in between deafening claps.
These dancing rays of light are the beauty and joy in this skies sea.
The rain flows angularly tearing away flecks of skin.
Blood mixes with the rain.
This march is my solidarity against the pain behind me and in front of me.
Marching into the pain unwillingly and yet still striding.
Moving into very death even as it was carried and nurtured in my bosom.
My very belly button grey and singing of the other worlds.
Born in between worlds and time.
We need no relief for we are free with mind alone even as the slavers have broken our bodies.
The pain moving through and around.
The suffering the same, and though we suffer we still march.
Each footstep forward our great rebellion.