The Approach

Something is coming,
whether it be through a cold winter's door,
sloshing through the trough of puddled rain,
across the brittle rustle of dying leaves,
a medieval entity that has comfortably slept 
through the humidity of our restless summer nights,
inside all of our aging sarcophagus', until now.

Something is coming,
and I feel the creep of The Approach,
like long acrylic fingernails tapping worn countertops
or high heels walking across marble floors,
inching closer and closer to the skyscraper's elevator doors,
going up then down with each passing day, the sounds,
until I no longer hear that specific echo.

Something is coming,
whether there be clouds in the sky
or on a night filled with endless stars,
a sharp glimmer in the corner of a tired eye,
patches of witches water on a hot, asphalt road,
the weathered pain we force down, deep inside,
until it emerges and we feel its breath on our neck, yet again.

Something is coming,
and I welcome the warmness of The Approach
like lukewarm grease inside a fast food French fry,
the residual, dying memory of what used to be
being minced with a memory from what we call the now,
the beast that stalks all of us in the nearby distance, still,
an ill-willed voyeur who patiently waits for its perfect moment.

Something is coming,
whether you know it or not, our freedom being oblivion,
and for some it will be too late,
others, it will be too soon,
others, it will not be soon enough,
and it will devour everything beautiful in sight,
and I'm fine watching it do so as long as I can sleep when it is done.

Something is coming,
and all of us can act surprised by The Approach
or wonder why the ghosts have remained invisible for so long
or ponder why they would want to be seen in the first place
or why the monster would be so selfish and hide for years on end
in cloaked happiness, posted for all to see, slowly sneaking behind us
instead of in front of us as we scroll and comment, and scroll some more.

...

Something
is coming...

to feast...
then hide...
then feast again...

...
The Approach...

...

it waits...
...
inside all of us...
...
with hungry eyes
and
a growling stomach
until...
the lash of its sharp claws...
...
then, nothing...
...
and we act surprised
when we shouldn't...
....
and we can't believe
it did what it did
when we should...
...
to those we loved...
to those we didn't...
to those we knew...
to those who were strangers...
...
then come the questions,
especially interrogatives of
those that poked the beast 
while it quietly rested...
...
the animal 
inside all of us...
...
the animal inside all things...
...
the resting carnage...

...

The Approach...

...

...can you not feel it?

...

Something is coming,
an orange flame in a blinding snowstorm,
a lukewarm wave from a hidden world,
and I let The Approach consume me completely,
dark where there is light,
light where there is dark,
and I swim and relax in the void so I can protect myself from it.

Something is coming,
distant screams like rollercoaster riders at a theme park,
muffled by me putting my fingers in my ears,
ghosted until I close my eyes and finally make myself invisible,
letting the creature feed without struggle
so I can watch from my mountain top
the fire that comes for those that deserve the ash.

Something is coming,
and I've waited a long time to see, with my own eyes,
the forced strength of the unleash that awaits,
of what The Approach truly brings,
stalking through the tall grasses of the past
to draw fresh red blood in the present
as we stare at our scars in the future and lick them salty.

Something is coming,
and I've prayed countless nights for it to pass by us, unharmed,
on aching knees I clasped my hands tight by my bed side
and begged for that haggard animal to stay in the dark cave
and hide in its closeted coma for another century
and let love and hate figure things out on their own,
already knowing which way the scale should tilt during this day of war.

Something is coming,
a welcomed entrance into The Approach I've long fought,
me tired of sharpening both sides of my dull, war weary sword
and banging dents out of my faded, scarred shield,
a countless defense of keeping the front line from faltering,
me barricading, alone, the aged door for as long as I could
as splintered fragments fell off with each countless attack.

Something is coming,
through the misty, anxious shroud of a day
that I have long tried to avoid by ignoring myself, my escape until now,
a lifeboat that I must sneak into by choice, me finally cutting the cord to
the main vessel I am attached to in the high seas of life, hoping to wreck
and wash ashore on an island far away from where I currently am
and let the storm bring, to the rest of the world, my bottled message.

...

Something
is coming...

to feast...
then hide...
then feast again...

...
The Approach...

...

it waits...
...
inside all of us...
...
with killer intentions
and a malnourished frame
until...
the gnash of its sharp canines embed the first bite...
...
then, nothing...
...
and we act surprised
when we shouldn't...
...
and we can't believe
it did what it did
when we should...
...
to those we loved...
to those we didn't...
to those we knew...
to those who were strangers...
...
then come the questions,
especially interrogatives of
those that poked the beast 
while it quietly rested...
...
the animal inside all of us...
...
the animal inside all things...
...
the resting carnage...

...

The Approach
...


can you not feel it?
...

I can...
...
...

inside all things...
...
the resting carnage...
...
...

and I've decided I'm fine with it...
...
...as long as I can rest...


...


...as long as I can finally sleep...


4 Replies to “The Approach”

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