Yesterday I did something I almost never do, which is write and listen to music at the same time. Looking back at what came out of it, I’m not sure whether breaking this rule was a good idea or not. After I finished reading it, the only thing I could think to say was, ‘Weird‘. That said, I also kind of like it, so I thought I’d share it here. I would like to add that I am happy and enjoying a beautiful spring day.
I met a cabin in the woods, filled with the light of lost souls, of travelers who had sought its warmth and learned their fate within, to heat the one who entered last and shine their beacon for the next, and with that fire spread throughout they might entice a multitude, a crowd of weary wanderers desperate for rewards commensurate with their suffering, and finding this elusive must remain watchful for the next to arrive, that sweet bliss a temporary heaven that would leave in its wake a hell eternal as they are forced to draw another to themselves and cleave to that light, hoping with each one newly chosen that some of that glow might warm them as well, but comfort resides only in the last to join, and they watch captivated as love and rapture burn inside this latest arrival, promising its unfailing devotion to each traveler in turn, abandoning all with equal promiscuity, enveloping their newest member with jealous lust never satisfied, consuming hope as fuel to burn on and on for all to see, to see and come and join and witness the ever-dancing flame of externalized energy and internal decay, for as long as the burn is sustained the eldest among them must grow weak, conserving nothing for themselves and benefiting only the one who has just entered with the cursed luck of the damned, thrilled to live a moment’s life and doomed to die with spite and envy its only companions, replaced soon by another and lit by none, slowly collapsing into dust and longing to join an emptiness that remains as distant as the light, a decay as infinite as the souls themselves, with an end to their passion only a dream that taunts their waking hours and haunts their tortured sleep, leaving no escape even in the oblivion of unconsciousness and reminding softly and cruelly of pasts remembered and moments treasured, wished away on silent lips that long to forget the happiness that magnifies their sorrow and retreats only long enough for hope to return, its shaggy mask reminiscent of an old friend that quickly fades to reveal the enemy beneath, a sagging face of howling smiles and wordless jibes that curl the lips and curdle the blood and penetrate to a depth that only memory can achieve until with willful rage the soul turns its anger on itself to drown these pictures and tear them out, leaving the mind raw but able to heal, regeneration as certain as the dawn of a new day that none of these wayward lanterns will ever see from their locked cage, whose door swings only in, admitting all who seek to enter and allowing none to leave save in raving fantasies cut short by the constant arrival of someone new that they may despise and torment with their light and their warmth, given freely one with the other, radiating stronger for their desire to wound, to watch the same light ripped away as darkness clouds the eyes and satisfies for one fleeting moment the only pleasure that they will ever know again as they welcome another husk into the fold, forgotten just as quickly and drawn into the ranks of misery that surround it and tousle its soft and yielding frame with the sharpened edges that protrude from the broken souls that came before, shining out for fresh victims and waiting for the world to end, never knowing that even this merry rescue is a fabrication of their twisted hope, for knowledge that their fate is unending would be welcome news against the constant barrage of moment after disappointing moment, and never was an unwanted truth sought so desperately as this one or rejected as often as it was learned so that it might be sought anew, might again grieve the seeker with its answers and call forth a fresh chorus of dismay at its discovery, fleeing from the minds that reject it and joining the unwelcome memories of better days on the edges of consciousness, there to watch the carousel of woe spin on and prod the dying embers back to work so that more will see the cabin’s beacon and head its call, bereft of warning as the breathless screams that permeate the void within seek only fresh souls to share their pain and shine all the brighter that others might join them there behind the walls forever more, to suffer on in silent company and weep only for their own shattered fates and conquered destinies, allowing no thought of mercy or grace to temper their desire for increased numbers to join their harrowed watch, pulling with all their might to attract the living and tugging at my own weary mind to follow their light and be the next to be blessed and warmed and enveloped in blinding radiance and love, to be accepted and welcomed and kept close forever, knowing well the limits of this gift and the consequences of receiving it but promising just the same and tempting me closer and closer until I find myself now in the doorway and understand, as they once did, that each soul that enters does so with the full knowledge of what lies ahead, that there is no lie in their light, that the treachery comes only from within, for the moment of warmth is so enticing that to know its power and its wholeness for even an instant seems worth the price of remaining inside, darkened and chilled, guiding others toward the same choice, and leaving my fate and my destiny in my own hands as I stand and wait and ponder.