Creature, Sing; Creator, Shout

*****                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               May 26, 2015

Ah, sweet day. Who am I to argue? If she wants to bring me happiness, should not I just allow it to be? And it is true, for my heart sings today in sweet delight. Yes, grandiose and too full of feeling and more, and here we are, unfettered by the once-fear whose name we dare not whisper lest we be struck down with the dreaded affliction.

And a moment ago was a thing there, whose now disappeared behind the bush and the rock, hiding only from what never was. “How have you been,” she asked, a question which did not beg any response. It was a mere fact; How have you been. 

And, how I have been. Standing there one day, the realization deluged me; I was not alone. What treasure hide ‘neath rock and wind, for I have now seen the odd creature handing out certificates to those who dare. Slither, slide, wane and wander, what was your name, but do I not care. For I have seen you and now you linger again. But, I do not care, and care so much.

So once again, as we sit and sip tea, tell me your story, the story, the thing you love to talk about and I love to hear. Especially the part about the great howl that took the world, the tremendous lunge and lurch that, when we saw it together, we gasped in awe and shot up, and up, then out and around. Yes, it was you who gave me calm and composure, but I did not scream; we only observed.

It went by, that thing, that creature, handing out things to hungry takers. But when it found me there, sitting alone only with you, I heard the great crackling and cackling and I was charmed again by the morbid reflection of my own self back at me.

“She is sweet, don’t you think?” he could have answered but did not, only stared the stare of those who do not care. And I took it, found it and saw it in him that day, as we sipped tea and sang the song of the sage, together, yet alone, and wanting nothing anymore because we are free.

And so the creature came. And when it did not see us, for we were alone, I was given the chance to see that it was not all anger and gristle but that he was in pain, and she was hurting, and so a thing came from me, like an arrow loosed of the bow, a stone tossed from my hand. I could feel and can now, the stirring, the movement, the dance of the dance and song of the night. And, knowing the great secret, I gave it away.

A moan, a groan, a scaled hand drags the ground leaving its trail of droll and its dark night of the soul. But it did not matter, not to me nor him nor her, the creature, the thing that could not be.

“May I sing to you?” I do say yes, I do love you. Your voice it quivers as the harp, and whose wind sings in the tree, how have you known for so long that it was here, as it is, this thing I never could find and now is mine?

“A creature’s delight comes not by the river’s meander, nor by the night giving moon the shine of the season. A creature is ne’er heard when she comes, dragging her tail and moaning its groan.”

“But I heard it, saw and watched as she did!” I swore it was true.

“You were there but your eyes were pasted with a century’s sleep and your feet were weary from the long journey. I could come, and show you, but you could not see. Not any, but now there are few. So now I have come, now am I here, to show and show again the few who will let it come.”

“Of what do you speak, and how could it be, this spiel you spoil and snares to a snag?”

“Ah, a riddle not to be solved is the sweetest of story, a night to be heard the day’s delight by sea.”

And so we laughed, aloud, under the moonlight’s glare and the sweet night air. A ship passed by, so stealth that not until it was nearly upon us did we gasp as its massive hull all but scraped our noses clean and away. It ripped me, organ from organ and skin from bone. It ripped me.

I turned to the creature, the sweet soul who’d brought its odd gift of nothing. I looked in her eye and asked her again, why do you come, by whose decree, why are you here, to show only me.

“There is no other.”  

And so I looked back into me, myself, with me and by me, and there she was. The creature inside, the night air could not hide. One leaf, a tree, a mighty ‘nother howl; just once more.  Let me cry in the night, with all that I am, and sing my song, even if it become long, too long, lest I am old and weary.

I will sing the song, and it is me. The creature inside, the creature is me.

 

Available Now!

A Thousand Screaming Monkeys

by Kevin A. Hart

Kevin’s story begins in a treacherous place, a state of mind and body so hideous that he practically invites getting his head blown clean-off by a double-barrel. 

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