Giving up the Ghost.

Looks like I've ridden out Psalv-Murons waves. I'm not so scared of the deep anymore. Im not so scared of the ghosts in the sea.

They might hide in sunken mountains and they might have seen the great watery depths, but they don't have my heart captivated when they sink their eyes sink into mine; I'm looking at something brighter.

The cold and lonely type ride upon that salty swelling ocean. 

Sure, there are some treasures lining the sea-floor,

and maybe these weak arms couldn't hold all those gems.

My weak arms kept me warm as I struggled home.

Sometimes we would forget to keep an eye on our hope and the ocean would sweep it off the deck. Whenever our hope was overboard, we had a very difficult time steering our ships. Thankfully, fierce lighting would light up the sky and we could see the colossal kingdom looming against the skyline. We were scared and tired, but we knew that what we saw couldn't be unseen. Blackbird kept her distance, fearing the mountain might fall on her; she could still feel the old origin rubble covering her; she could still feel the weight rolling in her blood. She could never understand the trembling in my hands. Maybe now, maybe now after the aftermath, the tears have made their payments and those painted circles might heal over. Maybe one day it will be crystal clear.

It's not at all crystal clear here. My greater eyes still need adjustment

to discern between my thoughts and reality. Loneliness will still attempt to cripple me.

Thing is, in my solitude I am still whole. I miss blackbird deeply and I wonder if the wound will ever close,

Thing is, his grace keeps me clean. Its enough for me.

I am giving up the ghost. I dont need a ghost to sing her siren songs to me. I dont need a soul. His grace is enough for me.

Prayers I thought would never be answered found their homes. God's divine will has come into fruition. I see before a Gentle Blue Birthking. He leads down into calm waters and we carry on through calamity. His touch is reminds me of the Single Man of Discontinuity, the All-King. Perhaps the great continent divide sobered his red temperament, perhaps I missed his gentle blue hue, maybe I hurt so bad I didn't believe it was there.

I see now a Gentle Blue Birthking. My All-King lead him to me. As he promised. My heart is getting strong. 

Blessed be his name.

When I am wrestling

When I am rejoicing

Blessed be his name.

The Elders Elixirs were no good

All these secrets I keep, why are they my secrets? How bad does my breath reek of them? Can you hear their weight by the infliction in my voice; is my mask more convincing or am I letting go of these fading fractures?

I see church steps, and I moving towards them. I am holding my head high despite what all the fact I am wrestling with. What is traversing is catastrophic. I never let their images sink, they were too young to factor into this disillusioned heart. I am scatterbrained, unable to hold a thought. My mind leaps away from me, trying to escape a sober reality. I'd rather live in a drunk world, away from the tyranny of my memories. I wasn't concerned with the elixir, despite how hypocritical, how unlike me. The journey was to a void, someplace I felt entirely uninterested, entirely unaware of myself. A place where I lost who I was. Where I didn't bear my name.

It was by these elixirs my name became spoiled. Elders attempted to escape their old skin and children cried out for anyone to know them. I was born among them. 

Sometimes, on the darker days, I feel as if I have wasted all my time crying out among them. Truth is, the lake is dry, the sorrow is fresh out and I dont think you'll find anything if you come back tomorrow. I could hold on to it all, but what would be the point of that? Never helped me in the past. Won't help me now.

No, what I want, what I need, is new light. The summer light. I want burnt cheeks not the beakers and elixirs to cure whatever dysfunction is going on with my family. I want to drink lemonade with my grandparents as I learn to carry compassion with me wherever I go. Always having some for the blackbirds who come my way. I want to walk up those church steps, and live in that sanctuary, receive the brokenhearted, offer the sober-hope.

No, I never imagined as I child that I would stay up through the night, stirring my madness and lust, speaking in strange phonetics, wishing the demons away. Sure, I always knew it would be a rough walk. Suffering doesn't change as time goes by. Neither does this sober-hope. Guess thats all I got to put on these secrets. Cause the elders elixirs were no good. I know. I tried them.