message from dadelus

You, tired dogs, breaking boughs with the Morning Star,
Was there not clock-time that caught you working upon
The speckled branches of your living dreams? How does
Your slavery compare to your fantasy, do you indeed relive
Work year after year, and call relatives in hell to tell them
About what you have been doing with pride and fastidious
Details interlaced with the quick lies of apothecaries promising
Solace, but delivering poison.

There is no doubt about where you are. Do not deceive others
With your flecked little currents of words which deliver pale
Messages in the form of beauty’s illusion, made for decay and
Sealed into appearances. We are not appearances, we are existences,
Piled upon experience and set to motion like clockwork in an
Organic frame. Where we are is not our choice. Where we go is.

So be ever billowing with the splendor of traveling wings, carrying
Light song and unintelligible melodies. For like your circumstances,
You have fallen, but now you know the difference between it and flight.
Curtail your earthen attachments and dwindle to frail sky with the opening
Of the window you kept locked through the winter for fear that the wind
Would catch your wings. You are free now, there in your prison, you are
Liberated in your hell, so become like your being and fly, fly up towards
The drafts of the North that promise so much more flight, be ever going
With the sweet lift of strawberry winds and vanilla zephyrs. Do not be
Afraid, fear will stone you with regret.