Twilight Mirage 34: This Year of Ours: The Mystic

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“Thirteenth” by Declan’s Corrective, Co-Governor of Seneschal, former Ace Pilot of the New Earth Hegemony

Before these clinquant peaks
And Quire-fashioned streets
And shimmering cataract falls
Before this was home
Before Seneschal

There was me

Stiff shoulder muscle
Knotted, bloody, scarred
And chess table politics
And cricket yard brawls
And father’s frantic calls
To lessons he’d swore I’d need
To seed a future year
With countless victories

Before we walked together gleaming
Before Drifting, my reprise
Before diarchy and comedy
Before Cadent beaming:
Me

Before Notion
Before violence
Before Vanguard, Apogee
Before Evening
Before promise
Before vision from dark sea

I walked down courtyards, and looked to spheres
And whispered treacherous dreams
To peers who’d disappeared
No schemers left to scheme
Just me and castle
Just me and hope
Just me, naive, and mouth of soap

This is not apology
This is dedication writ in flesh
No more “fighting spirit”
No more streets, bent
No more “what I really meant”
This is Tender wound

Me, threshed

On a dusted windowsill
An ant lifts a sugar grain
Plodding under false sunlight
Through spotted windowpane
And on the other side a child
Runs through a sprinkler stream
And screams
And laughs
And worries what’s to be

Stiff shoulder muscle
Knotted, bloody, scarred
A dedication the a world-to-be
To victory
To fall

This week on Twilight Mirage: This Year of Ours: The Mystic

Mind over matter is magic
I do magic

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