On Change

And so they whisper and whisper and speak and ask and plead and scream and whisper

Whisper for what?

Freedom?

For to whisper for freedom is as good as dead for who will hear the silent pleas of those who wish to be free but know that they are forever trapped.

Those who must tear themselves to pieces so that something new might grow. For the more they bleed the more they grow and ascend to a plane that is beyond mortal comprehension.

And so they tear themselves apart, limb by limb, peeling skin and exposing themselves to those whispers, whispers, whispers...

For when the moon and the stars reach out to touch you the light must burn and char away any imperfection, any exposed part that could alter or stop the transformation that has been long awaited, long coming.

For even now, if they were to shy away from what they'd done, from what they'd become, it would be too late for once the stars have seen you, once they know your dark recesses and the moon as seen your dreams you are part of them. You are part of them. You are part of them.

You are of the moon and the stars and so what need have you of your mortal body? This husk that serves only to contain your true essence, your true radiance.

 And so you must rip and tear and bleed and scream to free yourself from that carapace. That earthly prison that separates you from your destiny.

From your dreams

From the stars

So whisper and beg and plead and scream and whisper until no sound comes from your lips.

For only once you are silent, are you truly free