the bright glare of innocence

today i was rushed - by a flock of kids running with chirps like a thousand birds; their laughter keen, contagious, candid and it felt like a snow flake in a sea of murky, gray, sliding slippery surface brittle. the plastic faces of the many adults with careful hellos, tight voices, wariness from a bombardment of every day nuances, of topsy turvy: trying to make sense it would appear in cementing a house caught on fire. what black smoke that rises up to catch the vultures above, waiting patiently for the exhaustion to come about, the kids of tomorrow to inherit a world that is seemingly bizarre when the knots can not be unknotted because it has been waxed down, reforged, retold, tales spun so wild that today it looks more like a gangrene where the skin is just a cover up. certainly the tics above the eyelids do not stop their twitch, the fair weather remains unruffled: which says something doesn't it? don't dig. don't ask. don't question. the surreal twilight gives way to a million stars unmoved by spectacles roaring at heaven's ears. they wait patiently like the vultures circling above me; seemingly pondering on theories, sculpted by story tellers whose voice too become soft. so soft it ripples not the water changing to ice. ice - me, you, the world frozen in this moment, locked together in our fair weather communication. anything more breaks the illusion.