On Being John the Baptist

Years ago, I spoke of a boy in prophecy, a youngling with the skating stride of a three-legged dog on ice. Almost in silent secrecy, we knew and understood what we had in our midst. We assumed the roles of protectors, nurturers, shapers, fearing that unleashing the boy onto an unsuspecting world would be at the very least irresponsible, and at the very worst, destructive. It was foolish to think we had this sort of power.

Two days ago, I came to hear this boy’s message but the boy was nowhere to be found. Instead there was this man who spoke passionately to the crowd. He spoke of the new gods. He spoke of dragons. He told them the story of the necromancer. His was a voice in this revolution, and he made them believe.

To say that we are proud of him is to state the obvious. We know what he is capable of, and if the prophecy is to be believed, there will be many epic adventures ahead. Fortunately for mankind, I may have knowledge of the only way to stop him. Force him to shoot from the point – his slap shot still sucks.

Searching for expression

Searching for expression –
words that seem to disappear
as they surface from the abyss –
a promising darkness in the
depths reduced to sea foam
and nothingness – these
broken waves redacted
by broken waves
redacted by broken waves
all washing into itself
like space and time
as today
was yesterday’s tomorrow
and it all starts
to look the same.
The only remedy is to create –
to delve into the depths
where words remain unbroken
and only silence is spoken.