Those shadows on the cave wall, distorted,
grotesque & tall,
they aren’t shadows at all.
Only mutated shapes;
circus images permeating
another trick of a sick mind.
Don’t take it too seriously
but if you
listen too closely to their sounds
they start to drift &
without direction, detached from meaning.
Don’t be ashamed
for acting from the purest of instincts:
fight or flight is joined by frozen
fright as well; belief is
& to believe in what you see
is so natural it almost
seems like blasphemy not
let it happen.
In the beginning
there were two Lovers & one Mother.
The Lovers believed in her dreams & she
believed that memory hides like
shadows in light,
like death in life.
The Lovers soon decided that
they wanted pretty lies
equating beauty with simplicity,
demanded a story explaining everything.
So the Mother told them
that songbirds never remain in cages
without dreams of escaping;
that agape love
is a concept only a virgin could conceive of,
because rejection is integral
to all romance;
must be sacrificed to indifference
or love means nothing; fabric stretched too thin
always tears apart at the seams.
The Lovers rejected this:
they wanted comforting,
to believe in their selflessness
& inherent goodness.
So they ignored the Mother, searched
for a new teacher & found the Father.
The Father took the little songbirds &
plucked out all their feathers;
broke their necks
to make them
& refused to answer any questions