By Krystael Castro
“Await no more a word or sign from me.
Your will is straightened, free, and whole — and not
To act upon its promptings would be wrong.”
I. Authenticity
She felt such hatred for herself and for this world
and has, therefore, committed suicide and a massacre;
for when one hates, one kills.
It was an attempted escape—or a conditioned excuse, perhaps—
To not love thy neighbour or even the God in the heavens
enough to follow His teachings,
As scripture would hold it,
For that Love is what keeps us sane and righteous.
But the vision was to break free from from this
Uneigentlichkeit—
Uneigentlichkeit erfülltes leben, dass von diesem kam geworfenheit.
(This might include religion, but that was not for her to decide as a truth for all, should she believe it to be).
And so she is trapped in a battle with “fate” as she tries to grasp a life of
Eigentlichkeit—
Eigentlichkeit.
Our hearts will forever yearn for it
Until it is finally achieved.
II. The Struggle
She sank slowly into a dream
It accepted her wholly as she faced to embrace it.
She arrived at an infinitely dark room;
Its walls you could not see,
But one made of frosted glass
Made visible by a warm glow that existed beyond it.
All that she ever wanted was gathered there
(though what she saw was uncertain).
Her body moved towards the glass,
Her hands clenching a hammer,
She attempted to shatter it;
Not a single crack did appear.
She gave up and she stared
Into that glass of haze,
An indiscernible, filled space and
She knew.
She saw it and she knew.
Unclear through her eyes,
But clear in what she felt,
A happiness completely her own.
III. Danse pour moi
Chains, shackles, heavy, cold metal
On their hands and feet—
And even as they may not take notice to them—
There are shackles on their heads;
the holy temple of all that is perceived,
They take a firm hold of their bodies,
securing them on this ground
Limiting the boundaries where none should be
(Except in a place where love for one another is not fostered,
Which is a hatred allowed to run loosely in this world—with insufficient penalty).
We move just as the slaves we are
Of Time, of Times, des temps, et les circonstances—
the circumstances of the world
in which we were birthed.
“Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night.”
Bright days of adolescence have been darkened quickly with
The masses of screens and expectations built by generations past
Turning all people of flesh and bones into
cold mechanical robots with eyes transfixed
Lifelessly, submissively; they are
Everyday robots in control; mechanical puppets
in the process of being sold.
Bones and bodies
meant to be built for strength, creativity, and
The self-governed pursuit of authentic happiness and fulfilment—autonomy—
They exist here,
Only to give in quickly to the strings of society’s puppeteering.
Cold hands and sinister smiles look down on them,
“Danse pour moi, mes petites marionnettes!”
Lifelessly, submissively,
they dance.
“Danse pour moi, mes petites marionnettes!”
IV. Surfacing
She was sinking back into the dream,
But she felt awake;
She was in control.
The dark room felt cold,
But the light on the frosted glass drew her in;
She walked forward.
She touched the glass and immediately felt
Its warmth that spread—not only to her hands—
But filling her head and her chest and she felt
An enlightenment;
The glass shattered,
she danced, she danced
She walked through it,
she danced, she danced
and she smiled
she danced, she danced.