scripts for the soul

an encounter with the 4th dimension is not often uttered out aloud, lest the neighbors and polite crowd gasp - and look shocked. for what is seen is easily believed, for what is heard can be reconfirmed from an audio recorder hacked to play back the schizoid brain dismantling reality, refixing images torn off, chipped away from too much scrubbing, attention given to an unruly child howling and the permanent footprints bearing down like a star caving in with all the weight. ripped off the pages lived with i, you, me, them, at crossroads wobbling till the ground become sink holes welcoming. this tirade, cheap shots taken beneath the belly - then the sight of what we keep hidden becomes like daggers frozen in mid air, the belief hangs tight, the only salvation worth living for - a blushing candle flame retreats back to when it was all cold, inert wick desiring fire. then the shadows took shape, took life, like cannibalization: consumption till the belly swelled, then broke with many mouths, hands and fists plastering away on a room determined to find peace disintegrating inside mouths wet, hands slick, fists hard pummeling away at thin air escaping up a chimney, up towards heaven unbound. tears like lava flow down these porous rocks of hearts wishing to feel. to capture that essence breathing hot air like a dragon's breath, that chill of knowing, of realizing one is not alone in an empty room, a grasping for ends that never had a beginning. with solemn awareness growing, like curtains parting before a play, a main event where the primo donna enters the stage, then a sudden climax when hot air takes shape, takes life - a super nova, a death, reborn, when the scales begin to tilt, till the see-saw rocks objectively, surely, almost beaming in pleasure at having found a solid footing on the mouths, hands and fists claiming that light and fire never should be mixed. and of this i am sure: the dancing memories scorched those footprints no longer heavy, the heaviness becomes a sigh, for the light gave truth, but never change. just a quiet acceptance on the nature of things, the ramblings of a hermit trying to close the door while the sink holes tried to rush in. sucking out light. and a whimsical fire blinks twice, then hot air burst into living flames so incandescent it shut out the vision of daring shadows mimicking flesh. a pin drop. a mustard seed sprouting, with words etched in heart, the full bellied darkness consumed it not, when living fire scorched, labelled, burned away at fallen angels able to give only light without heat.