Wind tears the soul speaking from my lips
Laden with a roaring silence, leaden yet vigilant
The heart race quivering stillness of watched and watcher
Bleeding the thick black viscosity of loss and grief and a rage too weary to carry itself one step farther
Standing firm in the onslaught is not the way of the wild thing
This storm seems to hunt us, seeking out our lairs, the secret hearts of our delusion
Why do we not listen to the cowering within, the ferocious wisdom of gods and persons who are not human
Have never been human
We so often refuse to be human, though it is the shape we are meant to take in the world
Birthing instead monstrous heroes, and a new journey
The guttering flame fed by the wax from which we were to mold ourselves
A world holds its breath
Waiting for the right moment to blow out our light

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