Like Frost from the Can

From the hooded secrecy of its fear,

even as it held tight its fading vacuum of time,

the voice whispered;

“Alright

speak to me of

frost from the can.”

Grizzled time

leaned forward as

its clouds of yesterday

billowed thin toward evaporation.

“The morsels for redemption

bubbled forth from many wanton caldrons of illusion,

dictating satiation of truth only comes

after regurgitation of fakery,

and the embracing of flames.

“But panic not,”

said Grizzled time.

“Rather know the inferno of light's rhythm and tempo

lives not by the shackles of enslavement,

nor the taunting of control,

but rather like life's breath,

where imprisonment is not an option.

“Allow it to sustain

even as you rise into the unknown,

for lest you trust the illumine,

know the abyss of icy coals invites only darkness,

that realm where deception lurks,

tears patiently wait,

and louder screams prepare to

challenge your blackened void of choice.”

“But the journey,

will it be long?” asked the voice.

“Never ride life on the easy rein

seek out freedom where the sweat of loins

press hard into the girth of destinations unknown,

even as infernal’s demons await beneath,

their honeycombs with scorpioid tails of starvation

ready the smile with milk-white caresses

should you writhe in their poisoned promises of sweet nectar.”

“And signs?

will there be warnings?”

“Such dependence is folly.

“Goad your mount.

and trust the pure allegory of the moment,

that ever-faithful place void of manipulation or planning.

“Gallop past the brambles of impatience

toward the realm of perpetual Mother's offer.

“Allow the threshold of death to always be with you,

trusting the last step across is into that Some Time

where the shedding of fears made metaphor

brings solace,

even as you savor

what once was 

like frost from the can.”