My Imaginarium

A Dance of Precision

Could they have known before rejecting him in his own tent? Words have life long before they are spoken. The apple existed- it is the thought. Devastation waits moaning like a beggar- nails stuck in the door- growing slowly into the room which it is kept out of. Always hungry and never satisfied, it lifts it’s gaze and pale face towards any source of light, no matter how small, devouring it, leaving the bones by its underground lake. Distancing myself, I travel to the misconceptions of silence in the face of a question. A questionable answer helps no one, but it is also everything at once. Going. While change exists, the weak have hope, the brutal grow more greedy, and the beautiful become servants. Lowly. The land of milk and honey, the honesty of progression, the municipal takes love seriously. Ocean. A dance of precision can destroy a city. Clapping resonates from the lower chamber, as the bodies move methodically acting out the stages of their creation, Elders look on with inaction disguised as importance.