Flail - By Lee Woodward

Flail

He falls in a dream, the sky rotating around his unsuspended limbs,
The clouds that rise past him do nothing to halt or delay his descent;
Even though they are figments of his imagination
could turn into helicopters, or Planes… 
birds, or abstract symbols of airborne salvation
instead they choose to retain their state 
and leave his downward journey uninterrupted.

The mountains that circle as he spirals could grow 
in stature to giant peaks of softest powder snow, 
then reach up to him, before he drops below.
But they instead stand apathetic –
tall, yet still pathetic
- and point to the midday sun,
as if to say “My dear friend, you’re going the wrong way.” 

The trees lean - their branches clatter amongst themselves to withdraw:
His fall could be broken but so could their arms,
which could then no longer hold their precious offspring 
and scatter them on to fruition.

When he falls the ground could become elastic, 
could absorb his weight and send him Skyward;
It could turn into a single emerald sheet,
With a hundred thousand cushioned bushes 
that welcome him like a newborn baby to slumber, 
unaffected, fantastic and deep.

He bears no ill will to them all, 
for they are part of his own internal nature, and life is all just a dream.
Then the earth opens up and lets him pass through 
– down past the rocks and magma. And…
There you stand at the end of all time:

Your smile catches his eye and he falls into your hands 
and your lips and your loins, and your breasts, 
that welcome him down to the place where you rest,
And still deeper, too:
Where true love envelops and encircles him,
(Because true love is you.)


- Written by: Lee Woodward

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