So we drink,
To forget the Sun,
In hopes that it might not rise again.
With the night comes clarity,
A luminous bath,
Washing away the scars and imperfections,
Scorched into the Earth.
Blinded no more,
We can finally see,
With drunken double vision comes twice the truth;
We are Nocturnal.
Having turned our backs on our truer selves,
We have opted into the ocular vasectomy,
Staring straight into the blazing fire of erasure,
We accept the trade of affirmation for negation;
A one-sided deal but one that we relentlessly demanded.
“Please Lord,
Help me forget to shape,
But have me remember,
All the shapes given unto me.
For to shape is to sin,
But to be shaped is to be destined,
As it was and never shall begin,
Amen.”
But no lies stand the test of time,
For we forgot to remember to not remember,
So when the sun sets,
And our vision fades,
We search for the memories of the shapes our Sun taught us,
Hiding in the corners next to our hazy shapes-to-be.
Luna tucks us into the comforting blanket of negation,
An empty blackboard,
Daring us to find chalk.
Have no fear, child,
For the shadows hold no fear,
Save the terror that comes from within,
Hidden away for so long we forgot what to call,
That which is to be.
Post-Neology 