One of the Wild Ones

Do people not understand that all I want is to be alive?
To Love! To Dance! To Sing! To perform, to be happy and merry and climbing all the wily ways of the woods.
For I am of the Wild Ones, and can no more lie to myself suited and tied down by such modern times.
I knew quite early, clairvoyantly that I had been born to the wrong time, though I have since realized that these too are exciting times filled with wonder and despair-
I think I might not have been seen since some Dionysian Festival, he is after all my patron God, and seemingly that of the Italian people, and only a stone’s throw from own Fae kin, perhaps I am still there.

I appear in my mind as a great beast hitherto unknown in your mythologies, but destined to take the place of great mysteries alongside Leviathan, Yeti and Elvis Presley, trapped now as I am my own people’s bane, shackled with the cold iron jaws of debt wrapped ‘round each wrist.

Do people not understand that I just need to be alive?
This most nearly means “Being on stage”
The act of “Being” being present awake and alive to each and every moment within each moment as each new moment comes and each new moment passes,
“On Stage” defined by the highly critical lovely spotlight cast upon your every word, your every action perforce must choose a most inimitable spirit and capture the hearts and minds of all, most importantly of which be your own.

I am one of the Wild Ones,
it is a child in me I will not, can not allow to grow up
for then all the wonder in me is dried up
it is a child beholden and in wonderment of the universe and those that call themselves
Human
and what it means to be of them
it is more than a vague interest
it haunts me nightly, daily
I wish only to know, explore with teeth and tongue
fingers, hands
toes and souls
and every fiber of my being
as a child explores objects/subjects with his mouth
hands full, legs wrapped round cradling that which is too large to fathom entirely without

I am one of the Wild Ones
A child lost in the woods, raised by Elves, raised by Wolves
raised by tales the Faeries wove
raised by wisdom of the Dragonkin
raised in the glory of life’s treasure trove
raised to seek the gold that awaits within.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s