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Wednesday, April 1, 2009

My Castle Without Caste

There is a pain behind my eyes, my sinking eyes, and it will not waver. There is an aching in my spine and it will not quit its quiver. There are daggers in my wrists, blades in my legs, and hammers crashing upon my skull, and they will not cease. These enemies are not real, but they wear me down the same. I think of the future and spears cut through my chest, filling it with blood and longing. I think of the past and leather whips lash out, leaving red lines of regret. I think of her shrouded face and poisoned gas seeps into my lungs and I can't breathe. And I think of my best friend and wooden bats smash my knees to pulp and bone meal with distance.

But there is a figure rising from the horizon. It is a faceless saviour on a white horse, armour glinting in the noon spring sun. It is a many-armed liberator they call Change who rides upon a stallion named Vicissitude. It is coming and it is armed with shields to fend the strikes and armaments to defeat the oppression. Change is coming and I am glad.

Change will look down at me and rest its armour to the ground. And I will don the borrowed steel. I will grit my teeth as the weight of the plate armour shifts and the chain mail bites into my flesh and I will let my blood be a lubricant for the armour as I head into battle. When heavy blade and shield plead with my arms to be rest upon the ground, I will not suffer their grievances. I will square my jaw and set rigid my shoulders and keep the metal above the earth.

And I will grace my fears, my dangers, my obstacles with a sideways smirk before I cast them aside with feints and parries and heavy cascading steel will.

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