Crisis Creatures

| 0 Comments

By: Malachi Hoskins

Image: Author’s own


Back against the mountain, 
Blood thirsty enemies manning battlements
Rolling across the hills of the horizon
Impossible obstacles.
But some people
Have nothing but clear still waters inside them.
Some people take in crisis like sacraments.
Some people are only steady 
When the war is on.

When the water has worn down the mountain,
When all battlements are abandoned,
These are the ones that fly away with the wind,
No root to ground them,
No destination,
Only unsure possibility
Smothered by the indecisive breeze.

They entered the world in crisis,
Unsure and abandoned.
They learned how to hustle the monarchies
And how to find family
Wherever people who care to let things grow
Call home.

When the sky forebodes terror
They settle into themselves.
They find home in calamity.
They will be the still point for the bereft.
It’s their tithe to the worlds that tolerate waywardness,
Their weapon against the treacherous,
Chaos is their northern star.

These people are called crazy
For not adjusting to toxicity.
These people are called crazy
For holding on to nothing but their certainty
That the world is unreasonable
And unkind.

These people are called crazy
When the storm makes short work
Of the vestry of normalcy.
And they stand tall and unmoving,
Hearts full of steady,
Minds filled with hush,
Ready always
For the world to be, 
under it’s own weight
Crushed. 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *