art by Danny

I stare out the window,
watch the fog turn to haze
as it paints its way across the city of chaos.
If you stare hard enough you can see the wings of passer-bys,
some of them dirty, tattered,
shrouded in the rips and tears of life.
Others are taped on,
stolen from someone unknowing,
a robbed soul wavering unsteadily

I lose myself in a trance of story-time tales,
there is magic there,
squint your eyes and you can see.
We lose sight when we see things too close,
when we try to define every moment.
Some things should be left to mystery.

I want to write secret notes to strangers,
tell them they are the beauty in the grey,
the delicate balance between breath and beyond our hollow words,
stand at the start of an ordinary day and dance.
I want to wear striped tights and bells,
paint my face, my hair,
my reckoning,
be a part of the wild side of things.
Just to be the opposite turn of a page,
a magazine read backwards,
upside down,
arms raised high and eyes closed.

This is me screaming,
as I tumble down the edge of the world.

You are not a failure to the plans you once drew up,
they were yours to create,
and destroy,
and rewrite.
The dreams themselves are worth more than the actual outcome of a single day.

More happens on the flip-side of a nine-to-five.
You know it,
yes, we both know it.

Tie that ribbon tight around your box of wisdom,
strike a match,
burn the headlines,
light a candle and sew it right back on.
You can steal back what you think you lost,
or we can make a new set.

Take an oak branch,
a sycamore,
sew in ginger and glitter and kindergarten glue.
Leaves and flowers that your children drag home at the end of a walk,
mix it all together now.

And stop reaching for what is just simple and convenient.

I will sketch you a plan for today,
and not tomorrow,
If you will open the blinds and stare off in the distance with me.
I will make a yo-yo out of your past,
a stuffed fish out of disappointment.
I will be your witch, your sorceress, your beckon-call-girl.

See down there,
just look for a moment now.
The smoke is clearing,
you can fly.

Season of the Witch :: Donovan

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