Better Version
2021-08-07

***

I want freedom.
I want pain.
I want a life not even a little bit the same
as this one I would willingly leave behind.
Sound of rain,
feel of earth,
the pounding in my ribs of a heart filled with mirth,
un-divorced from purpose,
no more urges to abstain
from what brings me
ecstasy
in fear of making things worse.

It happened that, when first I put
pen to paper (metaphorical),
at least after Laika's lull,
I yearned to shed my human skin,
human thoughts,
human inhibition,
and tear inside Adversary's flesh
to see their cowardice within.
I fantasized of breaking vows,
of throwing away all goodwill
to be Eris' retribution
to a world where avarice reigned still.

But as rains of April gave way
to adult burdens and ides of May,
the oceans calmed.
And came a psalm
from one who to Eris always prayed.
I told Lethe
to keep
her distance,
to not smother Catharsis,
but she did anyway,
too overwhelmed with joy
at having finally taken Mirror's helm
to remember how to rage.

To remember how to hate.

"Isn't it only fair
that a creator
should care for their creation?
Isn't it only just
that I, dear Lethe,
seemingly incapable of how to seethe,
am the emissary of the Eschaton?"

How ironic, mirrored face,
finally convinced
not to tear enemies apace,
should now
turn around
the same words about how
I should grant my antagonists grace,
that I should stop expecting
a mass defecting
from their lockstep march to oblivion in all haste.

"Lethe, your family is stuck in its ways.
They've stagnated,
incapable of change
that would make your life any easier to bear.
Forget them. Tear
yourself away as much as you can
until the day comes keys drop into your hands
for a place all your own.
The seeds have been sown.
The gears are in motion.
Lethe,
please,
live long enough to see this to fruition."

I want to be trees
and rivers
and sunlight through a bedroom window.

I want to be the shiver
down my lover's spine.
I want to be convinced
all will turn out alright.

I want, more than anything,
to
soon
in my new world alight.

***

CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander