Eyes of the Devil 7

“Be compassionate.  But don’t make up fantasies about them.  Despise me, exalt them, but remember, we define each other.  Elite and preterite, we move through a cosmic design of darkness and light…Consider honestly therefore…which side you would rather be on.  While they suffer in perpetual shadows…”       Thomas Pynchon

I never really seem to truly know what I’m feeling.  At a loss for words, I carry on with no real focus, and really only with dreams flowing through my hands.  And on this day we rise.  Rising from the stupor of a reality that only ourselves could truly create.  Our fists rise to the sky, yet we see no direction home, we forget we fight for nothing but the idea, deeply held, that We are right.  And I cry a little inside, which each shout emanating from our consciousness, I die a little as we reach for something that can only live inside our eyes.  And the eyes we hold in our pockets, in our hands, become the only eye we can see through and there is no reflection.  But still they are the only light we can hold.  The only light we can feel, the only light, faded as it is, emanating from our dried, tired bones.  Still we raise a fist because we know we are not like them.  We stand behind this line and point our fingers and we know, yet still we cannot see.  But the pulses begin rising from beneath us and the flow of our breaths as if in one long swoosh exits and enters and floats into the air above us and that dark shadow, so far away now but always somehow hovering above us, beating along with us.  And I hear the screams from so far in the past, rising through my body, dissipating in the thin air and nobody, even myself, really notices.  We point to the shadow with everything we have, attempting to make it disappear, and the only thing which disappears is our sight.  In the darkness we reach, once again we are placed back on the thin ground of our previous existence.  As we look to the eyes we are holding in our hands, the entirety of our being swirls in a never ending circle of light and darkness, swallowing all our previous thoughts, becoming the only sight we now possess.  We stomp our feet and raise up our hands, focusing on the enemy above us.  I can’t see but I know what is wrong.  I can’t feel but I know where I am.  Her screams enter and exit me with each thought swirling in circles through my head.  And she says remember them and only circles appear before my eyes and she says don’t forget, but everything is forgotten but the enemy covering my eyes.  And she says this is what got us here, but I don’t even know where here is and she says just when you think you’re right all the doors close…and they have been closed as my thoughts and my sight continues to travel in circles, only what I can see clearly must be questioned.  The shadow pulsing above, and our fists pointing below it, and the humming movement of our continuously synced breath and our marching, forward, pushing toward an idea, trapped in a circle as the cries reverberating from the past are muted and all we see is all we hate

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