Moonlight Write
light candle…shhhh.
Close your eyes now, the light is fading
And the noise in the night is gonna get a little louder, baby
Solid black night with an enthusiastic moon holding the hand of a rainstorm desperate to express itself. Lightening flashes and from the street a room on the third floor of the hospital lights up. For a brief and easy to miss second the place is illuminated. The shadows inside become bright, focused.
A woman bent back and screaming in pain, a masked team dressed in all white and armed with silver tools, a lone man standing facing out the window watching the storm, dreaming of his future, wondering a million what if’s, did Duke cover tonight, how much am I down?
Behind the curtain of distance a baby is pulled out to the tune of his mothers screams. The beginning soundtrack. His body, for the first time, becomes heavy and full of weight. The reality of gravity is a boulder on his chest and his breathing hesitates, unsure how to adjust he lets it sit there until each rib screams for relief. There’s a straight jacket wrapped tightly around his body that leaves nothing exposed but skeptical eyes and a jaw, weak and undeveloped, clenched.
There’s a burning sensation in his hand but the fabric hides it from sight. Searing through skin and threatening to crisp his small bones. Unable to hide the distress a tear forms in his eye and rapid blinking subdues it. He’s moved left to right, swooned over, lullaby’d, cradled. Every attempt to ease the fire falls on numb hands and nothing helps and he starts crying not at the pain but why nobody else can soothe.
It’s the first instance of confusion and colors begin to blend, sounds start to mesh in a holy symphony and the senses pour into one funnel that leads throughout the nervous system down to his toes until nothing feels safe.
It’s years until the awareness becomes reality. With unmoving eyes it’s all absorbed into a sponge like mind leaving nothing behind but deception, the consuming feeling of mistrust. Ghouls and goblins are behind every tree and this is felt in the heart, not the brain. Looking around through a new perspective, and he’s read about this, in bible school a few years ago:
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Psalm 23:4
and this is what virgin eyes experience; the same thunderous night as his birth but now screams of pain, exhalations of encouragement are replaced but silence, fluorescent lights are replaced by a sly moon and the people who said I Love You are replaced by shadows sprinkled in the road ahead, replaced by the breath of something with glowing red eyes.
Touch, the physical world, everything landing on his skin from the winds kiss to the moonlights sunburn are felt and this is a result of his sight being strangled by darkness. There’re soft visions: in front of him and in a shallow manner. The sounds are amplified, howls and screeches call out to their Gods and it’s here, in this place he realizes nothing before has mattered and that the trope to living, seeing another morning, is based on this moment alone; moving forward towards the shadows, the demons, dancing with the mistrust, kissing the palm of that with the glowing red eyes until maybe, and this is all but Faith, maybe one day the eyes open and are met with a bright sunshine, the kind that leave you blinking from blindness, the type of rays that rip through ones palms.
God is watching over us and wants us to succeed.
You’re protected!
You’re loved!
You, while alone, are enough!
You will die.
Kerouac gave his life to this, I smile under his wing.
MUCH LVOE
WINSTON
SOULED IDEA
RAMBLER
UNDERGROUND BELIEVER
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