Masquerade I

When the lights lower, when the world rests, and when humanity is isolated in privacy; where do the birds go?

City lights obstruct the stars, and concrete replaces grass.

Phones light up the faces of those escaping into dreams.

Can we run into the sea anymore?

Time and paper become God.

We rule the walls encapsulating our bodies as the birds roam free.

Chain saw.

The bird no longer has a home.

Uranium.

Humanity no longer has a home.

Shrapnel.

 

Escape.

They tell us escape.

Where shall we fly?

Shall we go to the moon.

The moon shall explode with the sun.

The sky shall go dark, and the paper will no longer have meaning.

Allow the cat to meow and the wolf to cry for us as we can no longer talk.

Voices drown in sirens.

Time moves.

What has come before? After?

Where shall we lay when the world is burning?

 

Love. Hope. Fear. Work. Live. Cry. Dream. Laugh, and wake up.

We shall become the birds and the trees.

Love those close and float into meaning in the meaningless.

Balance exposure and privacy.

Run free and run through the walls.

Climb and fall.

Experience the birds in flight and fly after them into the sun until the sun can no longer burn.

Hide in the veins of the leaves left behind.

 

Stand behind the disconnected columns and hug the lion.

Blame the pointed finger resting upon the red button or the gasses spilling from chimneys.

Live with nature or swim in the tsunami.

Throw a blanket over your eyes and forget.

Will you run into outstretched arms or stand still?

Avoid. Work. Sleep. Hear the screams and have sex.

Live until you cannot breathe and do not look back.

 

Sit within the metal of the 17th floor.

Look down.

Look up.

Touch the clouds and fall to the earth.

Everything. Nothing. All at once.