I am a conveyor.
I am a simple link between my own kind and our true Mother.
Our Mother believes in us.
Our Mother allows us the nutrients we need to grow.
Our Mother loves us and so grants us those available to love in return.
Yet our Mother demands
A compensation,
A price.
A price we must pay
for the luxuries which we are naturally granted.
She grants us life, but She condemns us with thought,
the thought without which we would not survive,
the thought without which we would prosper.
Condemned are the actions of the individual
with the cries of the envious,
who can only wish to be so brash, so bold,
fo free of Mother’s pre-destined restraints.
Condemned are the spirits of the truly good
with the greed of the cold.
Condemned are the souls who can only wish the best upon those undeserving
of Mother’s love.
Mother is sadistic,
but she loves us all.
She knows our limitations.
She determined them.
Her messages rain like crystal through the sky;
snow for the cold,
hail for the rash,
rain for the lost.
Such magic,
such amazing, awe-inspiring potion trinkling down my window pane,
the glass, being pelted with the demands of emotional release.
The storm progresses.
Thunder ensues at faster intervals.
Lightening strikes.
Anger.
Force.
A point of no return
The anxiety.
The suspense.
The excitement.
Then silence.
Thunderstorms are Mother’s comfort for the forgotten.
Silence.
The split second of wonder.
Am I afraid?
or rather,
Has my Mother finally come for me?
Mother?
The water swells in the clouds of the day,
the day which never ends,
the day which tortures us.
The night is that which we desire.
The night sets us free.
It is the day which is hard.
It is the day which destroys us.
The water swells in the clouds of the day;
The anxiety.
The suspense.
All retained within the body.
The cloud teeters on the ledge of defeat.
Of release.
Of relief.
Or freedom,
sweet, sweet freedom, dubious to the naked eye.
Ignored.
The possibility cast away, a lie.
It carries on.
It builds.
Swells.
Water festers,
boiling.
Exploding.
Can’t take it anymore.
Almost there.
The breaking point.
The snap.
The release,
that which it fears the most
for no reasons apparent
It can’t stop.
It must keep on.
It must not stop: It will be defeated.
Such a guard.
Such a guard inevitably sloughed.
Such the guard which protects against the toughest penetrations
Such the guard is only a mirage for the true protection of our Mother.
She knows.
She knows our games,
our fantasies,
our imaginative whisps.
She knows those which are mere play,
to build a front.
A façade.
Protection.
The lies we utilize for “life”
This is our failure.
She demands the truth,
the truth which we cannot provide for Her alone.
Too long do we grow by the lies which “protect” us.
Coaxed must we be
for Truth,
for Life,
for Freedom,
for which I am the cloud,
on the edge.
Snapped.
Draining.
All “guards” finally down.
The flood,
the flood which allows me to feel.
My tears.
For which She beats at my pane,
demanding that which I’ve always known She would;
Answers.
Answers. I have none.
I need my Mother.
The Truth.
Of the world.
And I know She is the only true honesty,
true answers.
Fooled will I no longer be by the lies of community,
of “love”
And fooled will by true family no longer be.
I am a conveyor.
A conveyor of one message.
The Truth.
There is only one love.
Mother.