I Wish

The crow strikes a gong and cries out into the streets and never stops to wonder why he does what he does. He cries out for the children he wishes he'd never had. He cries out to the moon and the isolation that her desolate surface promises, always out of reach. The bonds of his mortal flesh and bone and feather tie him to the earth even as his wings spread to take him far, far away from here. If only.

An old man sits alone at the top of a tower, looking over the forest in every direction around him. A radio sits by his side on a small table. He turned it off days ago. His friends have certainly taken notice, some might even be on their way. Looking out around him, he wonders how much time he has before they find him, and whether he should lie to them or hide.

Deep underground a lizard scrawls out his wild fantasies onto whatever tapestries he can find. He paints the setting sun and endless expanses of desert. He paints crystal blue mountains and oceans of green and silver. The world above hasn't seen him for thousands of years but in his heart he still sees the world, even as he forgets what it was really like.

I long for things I'll never have and I mourn things that I've never known.

Icy black walls block the stars from reaching me, their guiding light will provide no help. The wretched things that find comfort in my company keep turning themselves inside and out and back again, exposing themselves and their flesh to the world under cover of darkness. The throne on which I sit melts under the warmth of my flesh, always threatening to freeze around my wrists and chain me here. Until then I would be free to go. But like the wretched things, I'm afraid. I want to be the warmest thing in my world, rather than bask in someone else's light.

Cardboard boxes piled up in a tower and I, king of the beasts, sit atop the highest one.