I originally posted this at DB.com, in the "Rest of the World" section, but thought I'd include it here as well. For some needed contextual information, the area I posted this in is essentially an area where little else is discussed other than politics.
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It Took Some Time, but I Finally Got to Where I Began
I don't recall the nature of events when I fell asleep, only the
constant thrashing of muscle memory on repeat. Now, muscles a little
more defined by a sort of reverse atrophy, I've awoken without the need
to register and map the topography of artifacts supporting me now.
It's without regard that my arms continue their rise, their fall and
their dancing monotony of motion, which equates to sleep in mindless repetition. It's without reason my ears have closed, and my mind has
petrified, housing the same whispers that rise again and again to be
given a new name in every dull instance.
Who set this horse
before me, long since passed? Who assigned my eternal plight,with
course set hard upon inception, uninterrupted by circumstance or
evidence, and holding to deaf, blind and dumb with a numb absence of
adaptable calculation? Who chose that I sold my ears to feed my eyes
through a filter of my choosing, to solely shovel sustenance to these
predefined visions?
What's that song I hear scratching to climb
the coarse horizon, a siren who took me deep in her embrace long ago?
She sings of words falling dead before alien ears, and finding life in
those of allied design. She serenades a sun called every color to ever
roam, though it's skin has burned one alone.
Soon, songs rise
to clutch at the backs of strained harmonies, breaking and cracking in
a toneless, tuneless chorus. In countless waves once rolled by a hand with intended beauty, there is now only static. White noise drains the
color, drains the song, and without notice, there continues the beating
of my arms.
Who set this horse before me, long since passed?
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