The Resonance of Dream

The Resonance of Dream was written in April 2019 and has remained unpublished until now. Featured art is by Jeszika Le Vye.

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I cannot do this alone. And neither would I wish to. Having spent the past eight years getting up close and personal with every last one of my demons; I know only too well they would love to steal me away for a repeat performance. Alas, my physical shell has been put through the wringer too much to spin the wheel of misfortune once again. Something needs to give and I would prefer that not to be my organs as I never did get around to filling in a donor card. Going it alone may be recommended for those of a narcissistic tendency. But anyone who truly knows my soul will be aware that I am not all about myself, contrary to mistaken belief. It was me who got me into the mess I’ve spent over half a decade clearing up and I’m more than happy with it being about others for the next leg.

My last leg had a word with my best foot and they agreed that forward is the only way. Granted, I do occasionally peer behind me at the ruins of the past, but only to assist in redesigning the coliseum of the future. Provided I possess a safe place to reside, then I have the foundations set to help build an impenetrable fortress moving forth. Mine is a hopeful course, one not owed to remorse, or condoned of uprising. A peaceful habitat where actual fact rides saddle back with fiction. Where life and death share final breaths in blessèd contradiction. Where swords are forevermore sheathed, for they need not be seen to request that our flesh be then cleaved. Some place we can very simply be.

Expectation is a bitter fate awaiting. As it makes us or breaks us, and names us its plaything. Mistaking arrangement as how to proceed. When it’s in our supernature to be free. Trusting is key as the thrusting of blades is a tasteless decree to avoid at all costs. While moths brace for flame, the butterflies can freely flutter by unsightly clutter to reprise the finest dreams. Remind of every creature we could be once we believe in magic just enough to trust our guts and leave our deep ruts be, for once. See the woods for what they are; the trees of sweet serene. For we have found the grounds to rearouse the in-between.

Something so profound as to be seen with great devout can be achieved once we reroute our doubtful fates to crowning destinies. Suggesting we should breathe each time our chests appear constricted. Requesting love so pure that it need never feel restrictive. Together we endeavour to the betterment of every last statistic. Once we trend to point of view far more holistic. Indifferent to nothing as we love with sense and feeling. Encouraging another thing to come from quests revealing the intention to take every pent-up tension we’re concealing and find steel within to venture forth with brave. Activate the game face we reclaimed from flaming embers. Lacerations healing as we reel in vested essence. Never feel the lessening of questioning our place. For blessèd be the air of shared embrace.

I cannot do this alone. And neither would I wish to see a solitary treasured friend erased. Should love be the colour I forevermore bleed; then I can very simply be in every shade. There are a number of angels at my table and my only request is that the legs remain stable on their seats. See me please; I shall forever do the same. I shall bleed a crimson river in thine name. If only to perceive the trees no longer faraway; for every leaf that falls is rising the same way. In the midst of breeze we drift between to shift into the ceaseless shapes of those who know the resonance of dreams. See me please; for I shall then forevermore incline to do the same. And every time I fall asleep; eternal flame shall rise. Together, we shall fame the changeless paradise held deep within our eyes. See me please; so I can weave the sweetest dreams in kind. Then maybe we can make it through the night.

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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