Friday, 8 December 2017

Hekate's Tribe

There was a time stood together in the middle of a trashed house,
where the truth flung itself out from the chimney.
And the 5am hour
was seen in with broken bodies
and happy, bleary eyes.
Smiles that would light up electric in the dark. 
Cradled in a row,
[like we all knew each other from childhood]
we crawled beneath the cave roof of a duvet. 

Left in a pastel coma
by the putrid weekend Gods;
they watched on from the great suspense of height
that the magic dropped us from.
And all the moments transformed into memories
as the world came back to life,
they fluttered to their deaths around our sunken heads
to kiss our eyelids,

while we slept.

We'd tried to take over the world

the previous night,
like little human bullets charged with surges of heaven-fire.
We became like the ones we’d always hunted
who are made from pure starlet,
full of the joy known only
to that which children carry in their hearts.
it’s only wild expression on a stretcher,
experimentation in a gutter,
its colour in motion;
a beautiful, chaotic mess.

As out of control as it may all appear,
it’s a disguise for the once lost spirit of Hekátē,
returned back to us
with a nebula noose around her neck.
To stare sharply into our faces;
[that beautiful frightened deer.]
She reveils the fast track back to our home in the light. 
Such succulent, galactic offers.
And while everyone else knocks on the front door,
we are in.
We are over the garden fence.
We are eating her wildest flowers.

There, we shake the metric ton hands of the mystics
which we provoke into running alongside us,
and whose response
is merely the light they strike back at us. 
Peacefully absorbed
like the coloured prisms behind stain glass windows,
it falls surrendered,
to rest behind the skins of our church to silence us.
And the world would get put to right while we slept there,
on the floor of their temple.
[Or so they’d have us believe.] 

As we lay there in the feathered shade
metaphorphised beneath a duvet,
The truth of the moment seized us,
And like a rebirth, we awoke.
The love affair with life whereby every friend deserves an award,
[You’re a mess.
I’m a mess.
I love you I love you I love you.]

Such soul sparks that I’ve found,
These friends who are also my mothers,
my fathers, my brothers and sisters,
my children, my great ancestors,
my tribe,
my reborn nucleus,  
my coffee kick at 9am,
my golden hour nostalgia,
my sweet punch of adrenaline,
my late afternoon gulp of wine,
like warm socks by the fire;
my dears, 
you are the map that brings me back.

It leads me back to the hills;
so forevermore
there I'll be found travelling,
beside these people who I call my home,
where we chase the magic

on the back of Hekátē.

Heading back there on a train
beside the sun capped trees from the South,
and the sleeping fields
draped outside my momentary window,
I sat.
With the sweetest sights at the bay of my eyes,
and a world of sound kissing my ears,
I rested there ever so silently,
for the world!- she looked so soft that day.
Surrounded by my kindred spirits,
I realised the honour
And now my heart
[my heart, my heart, my heart], 

refuses to ever come back down from such heights again.