were you lost. in the madness of mundane. here we forget. and manifest. this way. to that sacred space. a path twists ahead. join us. the coquettish dreamers tiptoeing through provocative vines. we whisper desires. seedlings that root and flourish in the mystic. adding depth to our play. as we find enchantment. and each other. in a labyrinth of golden cascades.
my polka dots drain. run. scatter. melting away from my essence. artifacts of creative avenues. once cultivated. giving rise to novel expressions. bubbles of boundless wonders. but now escape in purposeless puddles. helpless against the abyss of loss. the little light left. flooding dark rooms with opportunity. i reach for it. a disoriented damsel. in desperate search for new dotting techniques.
coolness infused in the changing breezes. sky paints its purple shades ever earlier. and my floral polka dots stubbornly refuse to let go of it. the end of summer. taking in the view of shifting seasons. i stall. in hope that time will extend the warmth of juligust into the future. when a rustling behind interrupts. that hungry sound. a growl bellowing from within a lively, wild growth. its leaves prick at my sides. as branches suckle me in. glossy dusk-dew envelopes my skin. our stems intertwine. and i’m lost in perpetual green.
This is my house. And your house. And our house. Splashed brightly with the colors of our combined nature. Each new member adding layers of depth to the structure. A malleable form. From within these walls I hear a crash. A splintering sound that draws my investigation. Peering from a portal, I’m greeted with shadow. What appears to be a threat. Looming over all that we have built. We can let it cast doubt over our being. Shake our foundation. Or we can strengthen our walls against it. Stand as sentries. And protect a place we call home.
A wasteland surrounds me. The trail an endless sheet of fissured rock. Too lost in openness. I seek shelter in a crevice. Where the warm earth encapsulates my being. Growing down, around, and with me. A union sprouting life. We rise. From one into many. The fertile ground splitting open from our defiant shoot. The twisting trunk gnarling skywards. Puncturing the blue void with outstretched hands. Our roots sinking deeper. So that we may extend further. Branch outwards. Grow oblong. Marking a new form of hope in a place of conformity.
Puddles staining the ground. Reflecting the hollowness of this place. But this one is different. I look different. The me staring back seems darker. Hungrier. Wanting to escape the viscous confinement. Murky figures shift in the background of her world. Slithering closer to the surface. Intent on occupation. A gust of wind distracts my attention long enough for my darker form to latch on to ankle. Her slimy tendril-like fingers embedding into my skin. The serpent shadows consume the liquid space. Darkening the view. Our face contorts. Filling with black. Before she successfully climbs up into me. Removed from the ink well. Have I saved her through this osmosis. Or did she corrupt me.
Barefoot and unprepared, the ground tremors below. Waking me to the unhindered change that is happening. A line. Splintering the earth. Moving rapidly with dividing force. Cleaving buildings, trees, and anything in its path. Leaving piles of newly defined objects. I take to sprinting along the rip. Feeling the scar growing beneath my unprotected feet. The sides turning away from each other. Racing to the edge of separation. Ahead, a world split in two. How to mend it? Bring union to the now opposing sides. Balancing on an expanding channel. I hold my mask and prepare to leap.
Canyon of misinterpreted judgment before me. My polkadots, never one to back down from a challenge, have softened to a muted hue. Fearful to illuminate in an over-saturated habitat. I prop myself on flexible support that bends too easily on shaky ground. Avalanching down the rock wall into green valleys. That give a glimmer of support for growth. But open on a landscape of relentless rehashing that hamper my expressive dots from flourishing. While darker clouds ever loom overhead. As a reminder of the difficulties in traversing this unknown expanse.