sometimes when the winds blow and i am still, silent, i hear echoes
therein of chains clanging, of howls and horrid screeching
screams; sometimes, when clouds pour rains upon a blackened
night it sounds like so many whips striking
like one long interconnected stretch of black skin leading to me and
upon which i stand, glistens with sweat, writhing immobile,
pinned, strapped, tarred to the ground. the flowers along its side
and the trees with their trembling leaves
rooted in paralyzing fear, hunched over, sad, silent, dripping with tears.
and the white moon smiling, full of utter ecstasy at it all. i shield
my face from the horror, the inhumanity. i close my eyes.
i concentrate. it is only the rain striking upon the ground; it is
only the flowers and the trees receiving needed nourishment; it is
only the wind, simply the wind; it is just the moon,
unknowing, uncaring, distant
sometimes on a clear, bright, spring day, the clouds smiling
with good will descend upon me from their secure clad sky places
and bid me forget the night and winds and rains. it is the day- rejoice,
forget, rejoice. sing and dance amongst us, before us, with us. embrace us.
these clouds full of wind and rain potential, white like the moon of
and from the same stuff as the clouds of my night.
i close my eyes. i concentrate to fight back the anger, the tears, the fears.
it is only a clear, spring day and i just laying upon my back enjoying
the clouds as they blow by me. praying somewhere deep within myself
that night never comes again; that those clouds remain in sky places,
distant like the moon.