A childhood poem of darker connotations.
Myriad of colors fly,
Young and fresh, a piercing cry—
Into the soul, the nothing expands,
Nothing into something, time of sands.
Newer they are, the wild, wild souls:
Occult of sweet frenzy—frenetic controls.
Come with me, together we’ll see
Emerging from the jubilee
Night of tar and frozen fire
Cinders of gray, air so much drier—
Everyone knows the dance.
Hiding and seeking, we run about,
As the adults inside watch for our shout:
Shrieks of laughter, it’s our world for the night.
Listen for the rustling of the moon-shadows,
Other-world creatures of magical shows.
Now we feel their tingling touch,
Grin as they smooth over our grasping clutch.
Songs of glorious clamor belies,
In subtext and context, our inner demise.
Nothing has been the same since then—
Created anew, we’re not God-fearing men—
Ebony black and bittersweet—colors of our souls.
Despite our folly, we all knew
Immortality assured, the caged moths flew
Everywhere, the butterflies of breath,
Destiny arose, butterflies of death.
Welcome to the wild side.