The Elevator
written once again in wings sui generis style
no capitols no commas no periods no punctuation
please note spacing it indicates periods or pauses
it is important to be read with your writers cadence
and flow in mind
i saw you standing there
first floor elevator entrance
door open no emotion
flat effect somnolent
sanpaku eyes
no impetus no objective
never entered the race
appearing lifeless
taking up space
before you there are two choices
the first step you take will seal your fate
the first choice
out
you cannot remain rooted to the same spot forever
dormant you’ve become a doormat
so its out the elevator you go
on to the broad way into the the flow
indistinguishable in the mass of human landscape
a river of souls in a current of creations
a montague designed by doctor moreau
you blend well you don’t seek excellence
content to be on the bleachers
to sit on the bench
the casualty of a union for pleasure
a biological with no pretense
giving the least effort possible
always taking always consuming
your hands out seldom with your hands to
you give in order to get
never learning the joy of sharing
the generosity in getting in order to give
your epitaph died never really lived
you only existed for the weekend
not the beauty in each day
thank goodness it’s friday stood in line and got your pay
the second choice
up
into the elevator the door closes
now your cocoon not a gilded cage
this is your chance to fly
risk vs reward you’ve got to try
the seed will never produce unless it is buried in the dark
likewise we will never know life until the old self is broken
inheritors of grace and all that has been spoken
our cocoon is a cage where we are elevated out of the dross of human failure
the soul dying to pride vanity and raw egotism our jailor
hidden from the world wrapped in threads of linen
this chrysalis is a burial cloth set in a prison
buried in the belly of the beast away from prying eyes
no paparazzi no public viewing the process disguised
a metamorphosis in a collision of forces
not beautiful to look upon
you dare not intervene that would be death
life has its wisdom trust the process
stories to rise stories to tell you arrive at your destination
along a strait and narrow hallway you’ve never taken
given the key you unlock the door you paid the cost
no longer searching for things not lost
i hear the sound of wings ever so soft
as you float among the stars along the silver sky
you can fly
i wonder if the caterpillar knew it was going to fly one day do you
fruit is not born on the mountain top but in the valley below
some things have to happen inside out
without the cocoon there would never be the butterfly