Tecelã de Sonhos - Poesia D'água

Russian Roulette of Collision

facing your past is a lot like entering a cathedral
you know there are going to be ghosts
and won't be able to avoid them
so you walk through them,
piercing the holy presence

to them, you too, are a ghost

and they melt through you

piercing the living flesh

as if night collapsing into dawn
connecting two different worlds.
to both the happening is an inconvenient, painful even
but destiny fails no child
and from her motherly embrace there is no escape.

the past dilutes itself away
into the memory of a blurred present
and echoes towards the thought of a hopeful future,
as ghosts step forward in time
but always end up falling towards
the comfortable paws of the past,
clinging to familiarity;
fascinated by an elusive old self
rather than the promise of a new way.

aren't we all ghosts waiting to rot away? decadence is excellence when you fear no death.

gently, subtly, lovingly, slowly

getting swallowed by the candle-burnt lips of the earth...
build me a temple, rising grand by dawn
I will make myself holy by moonlight...

no ghost will stop me in the cathedral.