About My Lies

I sit on a stone in the middle of the forest.
It's still warm, though the sun is long forgotten.
Moonlight makes it shine–like a bone.
I have become a guest of this tiny home.
A moment's breath–no more than a fly
in the endless life of this ancient witness.

Darkness pierced by needles, stars shine bright.
Every human seems to sleep.
This world awakes–a spectacle of sound:
Trumpets of the owls. Fox paws: the rhythm of the hunt.
An army of a hidden nation at war.
Soldiers move in secret. Hunt. Hide.
Vanish–with a short and final scream.
They dwell in darkness; it belongs to them.

Sometimes shadows pass close by.
I am not yet prey. I am still alive.
Visitors return to shadows–
tired of my gaze, or the stench of man.
Though the forest breathes, I am alone.

I spoke too much. Now nobody talks to me anymore.
It must change. I promise to remain silent.
Every word a lie. My speech—distorted like a far echo.
A truth that differs from reality itself.

I touch the stone beneath me.
I feel more than the cold.
Images blur my mind, and fade.
Old stories. Gone to ash.
No truth is true.
Memories empty.
Traditions are void.
I am like a star–distant in the endless dark,
named by those it cannot see.

The star knows nothing of its host–
or the animals that move in its light.
It does not know me.
And I–I only sense its presence.

Not knowing if it is already dead,
and I watch the light of a corpse vanish.
For that reason, I have decided not to talk anymore.
To close my useless mouth–forever.

My rite begins.
The needle pierces my lips. The scent of pain imbues the Aether.
My blood stains the once-pale stone,
and tears fall from my eyes. Water the blood.
A silver thread stitched left to right–then up and down.

Silence.
†