TEMPLE HQ
THIS DREAM AGAIN, DEJA VU!
12-21-2021
Whistledrop, thistlepot, and the wonderful stop.
I’m flaming upon a hobbitdown, towards dimpletown, on.
His voice trails off towards some dark cave door wide open a home with an unlit fireplace and the cobwebs grow over the ruins of furniture and the owner gone, the owner -
Like a dance upon lilly windows meadows thistle trembles.
“The song goes ever on and on” he explains to no one, his voice cracking and the song unspoken frozen out by the unwelcoming company about.
To build a fire.
“My life is in shambles” oh there, oh there, did I tell you about the thimbledown countrytown and all the lace of the place about the roppling white river?
Alcohol makes a great man small and can lead to a life of crime.
“Take it on your lips and a draught of the fire does ye good!” the man laughs his back apart and his spine tingles like swordflame.
It’s so cold.
“Welcome home!” The fireplace is lit - no, not it isn’t. Why isn’t it lit? Throw the door open, run back outside - rain? Why is it raining? Where’s the sun? Is it night? All I see is dusk and it never ends. Where is everyone? Am I alone? Help me please where is everyone? I thought this was home. What’s going on? Please, where is everyone? Am I alone? What’s wrong? Why is my home all cold?
And that’s when he was reminded of the color of pain.
On a dragonscale and bucktooth rails the whimsy-middle all dies upon the sword of the hills of the blackened trills ‘till pianoman sings a song to gilded lilted tumbles in fat and gold -
He remembered the color of pain when his song ended with an abrupt knowledge he was screaming, and the center of it all was that red-white (notpink) color of bone and blood severed to something deeper than the flesh until the pain lit every nerve and seemed to cook and shock the brain.
The stone began when the pain ends, and the red dies and the white turns blue and the black creeps in and it’s all ice and stone and he’s back alone in the empty shire the color of endless dusk.
He was holding someone’s hand and the skin was as golden as a jewel until the world poured back in and all he saw was blue and black and ice and stone and waiting with every miserable drop of the waterclock for the color of pain.
“Let’s pull back the curtain” someone says and he fell down and down into the endless black to watch a deer dying in the abyss, softly crying into its fate as deep wounds oozed hot blood in thick pa-pumps of the heart. Its eyes shut but it never seemed to go - it just kept dying deeper and deeper and dying deeper and deeper and dying deeper and deeper and dying deeper and deeper…