Adoubement
On a pendulum there are the parts of myself stacked along a string of gold, we glide over the repitis seasons of life, ever so repetitive. Life begins once the pendulum is still.
A virtuous life begins once the swaying of the hassle of living ceases. Could it be possible? to feel the universe towering over you like a scorned King, holding your soul's tick-ticking.
I agree with you, a lot of times when I write, the meaning is lost. That is why I argue not to see these words, but to feel them as I write them—with your subtle body.
Flesh kneeling peasant and the King’s sword pointed into your naked back. The skin is slightly punctured, without question, the barrier is torn. Though you bleed, you never lose too much blood. I know this position we face is uncomfortable at best, at worst who knows, but I sense this King may be upon the backs of I in adoubement. Or so I have been told.
If we become knights, we ride the horses east of the kingdom seeking refuge in bear caves, searching for something to bestow a natural grace. Only it will never come.
Nature decided to be motherly. In the Golden Age, god chose to hand over the reins to Earth, to become the universe, and to destroy its unruly children. Nature decided to be kind and ignore god, and now I get to swim in a lake at early dawn fog rising off human skin like ignorance.
The King who dubbed you knight is also Earth. The sword was made of tiny alligators, and when the rolling of death penetrated our hearts from behind, we stayed east to become.