prospective
Extending away beneath me, but never around me, the forest calls. The swaying trees beckon me to come and play, without ever letting me see a hint of what lies in their midst. The playful breeze nudges them into their delicate dance of life and death, while life flows all around their trunks and through their branches. Animals find their way through groves long since forgotten by people and into the fairy rings of years long past. The power lines, veins of the earth, pulse and radiate as the seasons pass and the world spins like a maiden around a Beltain fire. The sun rises and sets with out ever stopping to say hello or bid the world good-bye. The moon flows and ebbs brining tides of the heart and sea up on shores to crush and give life to furtive plants that would cling in the face of such an onslaught. I see the spirits of creatures go about their lives and mingle with one another. I see this from my tower.
The tower Is, much the way the forest Is. It will always be a part of this landscape, and the landscape is eternal. The view I command is splendid, gorgeous, everything it is expected to be, except for one small matter. The pain. To look out at such beauty is to tear your soul out. To look out at such simple wonder is to know your own faults. To look out at the spirals that incorporate all in existence and cycle is to know you are destined to fail. Why the tower surrounds me and elevates me I’ve long forgotten. I know I am here, I know no one else is here. I know the forest is there, and that life is there. I am not whole, looking out of this tower; my soul was left out side its artificial walls, for only such transient things as fleeting emotion and the conscious mind are allowed in this prison. The crushing finality of four unscalable walls, one insurmountable ceiling, and one inperneratible floor leaves me shaking and broken. Wasting away and so frail I can barely walk the halls of my fortress, I long for what lies beyond. I long to be a part of what I know I am meant to be with. With unyielding decisiveness my tower preserves me in my current state, a mockery of what it is to be whole.
The tower Is, much the way the forest Is. It will always be a part of this landscape, and the landscape is eternal. The view I command is splendid, gorgeous, everything it is expected to be, except for one small matter. The pain. To look out at such beauty is to tear your soul out. To look out at such simple wonder is to know your own faults. To look out at the spirals that incorporate all in existence and cycle is to know you are destined to fail. Why the tower surrounds me and elevates me I’ve long forgotten. I know I am here, I know no one else is here. I know the forest is there, and that life is there. I am not whole, looking out of this tower; my soul was left out side its artificial walls, for only such transient things as fleeting emotion and the conscious mind are allowed in this prison. The crushing finality of four unscalable walls, one insurmountable ceiling, and one inperneratible floor leaves me shaking and broken. Wasting away and so frail I can barely walk the halls of my fortress, I long for what lies beyond. I long to be a part of what I know I am meant to be with. With unyielding decisiveness my tower preserves me in my current state, a mockery of what it is to be whole.