I’ve one last chance to bear witness
to the oddity and uniqueness: a first time
original, a tchochke of absurdity, abstract.
The walls are building up around him.
Admiration one last time; appreciation, a
resolution before the chains and shackles
desecrate his name.
Voice of an underground generation,
inspiration engaged in the risks of life, necessity
of truth. Experience the drive to conclusive
judgments; the taint upon his name.
Ranks of autonomy, vicarious alive we learn,
the forging of a memory, a blasted wind twisted
in the lights. The trails of inspiration, a singular
distillation perceived by the artist above.
Fist to the sky, a cannon ablaze for the final
ride to reach the heavens; every attempt to make
it there on one’s own, to stave off rejection, the
ultimate fear that seizes the soul at the final
door of reality.
The whispers of loathing run deep.
They burrow in the skin, a sickness plagued
by the curators of history. The poisoned rabbit
hole attractive as deep, gives direction to the madness.
An effigy is burning as the world returns to light.
The scarcities of imagination that drive the actions of
another, the vacuum of besieged souls will leave room
for new growth. The legends of old, the texts that built
this world in generations forsaken by the sins of the
shadows, prostrate in agony, guilt bleeding from their
brows, their visions deteriorating, rotting, decaying
the interior of the soul expressed outwardly, a
trap for the lost, or the questioning conscience.
“Take The Ride” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.