Untouchable
Quite ugly and distasteful, I must seem to
you, with hungry eyes that will lap up every detail even in darkness, and ears
that talk to the silence; I must seem so horrible, with hair that touches the
mountains, and fingers that wish to devour every crevice in the past present
and future that shelters secrets deeper than time. There is no hope, you say,
for someone like me, around whom a sea of the thickest waters forms an immortal
vortex. You say I am dirty, with morsels of stars stuck in my teeth, and feet
contaminated by the sewage of many unborn races. An untouchable - because I
have touched too much.
I am shunned from your society, told to
drink my wine quietly and sit in the corner of the dark abbey no one walks in.
So I sit, sipping on that wine, that old, old wine, that once ran through the
veins of gods, and think about how I can roar into your faces and tell you of
my adventures. I think, but then slump defeated, because I realize I don't have
a sword strong enough to slice through your thick skin of truth. As you suck
the honeybees dry and squeeze all the milk from the cattle and drain the
lifeforce of the earth, I will hide under these covers and think of better
things. Now and then you will throw me a bone of nutrition, so I do not die,
because you are honourable people, who have rid the world of starvation. A
little child may perhaps steal into the dark abbey to observe my ways for a
moment, and he will marvel at how perverse I am, and how much I stink of
faraway places, and maybe try and push a tiny plump finger into my arm. He will
then jump up in pain and astonishment, and will run - at the speed of light -
to his parents, and tell them of how he witnessed the creature with volcanoes
beneath her skin.
I hide my little vials of love - multicoloured
and marvellous - beneath the folds of my heart, easy to access in case of
immediate need.
Further and further I sink into the smouldering
concrete, as I struggle to keep my nose to the sky.
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