2
“Don’t heed to The calling,” she would tell me while tucking me safely under the covers. Those words always summoned silhouettes in the dark, visages from the horrors of my own childish mind. There was always something about to creep through the window, beings patiently waiting just beneath the shadows for me to fall asleep. But those imaginations aren’t real, they’re much too tame for us to actually fold into reality.
Years later, you finally hear The calling, when you’ve come to find those childish ambitions never amounted to anything of meaning – that they were an utter impossibility. In such surrender, there’s nothing like that soothing melody manifesting over your failures which are founded in your obsession with The fear.
Every dream you’ve ever had.
Every pleasure you’ve ever felt.
Every joy, finds itself within your grasp.
You become –
A glow-grinning crow flying against the final crimson sunset; laughing about the shiny treasures tucked away within your end time abode. White as a dove, at least in contrast to the others you mourn over in pity – wailing below. For those most unfortunate never heard The calling.
You transform –
Into the object of The form’s obsession.
The pearl of great price invited to partake of The fruit.
So you do.
Freedom truly is free.
