the past and the future.
that's what happens to happen whenever i'm back home.
the werewolfen full moon mayhem of this holiday season
pulled us all along like meteoric star-iron shrapnel,
kicking and screaming, and grating against the grain of all things
silent and night, as well as quiet, soft, and/or knightly.
there were no big explosions,
no blow-up blow-out knock-down & drag-'em-outs.
we all played nice, inasmuch as the overlaps of time and space we allotted
allowed us freedom of movement and expression.
that's a good thing.
that many monstrous temperaments and the high temperatures inside and outside
could've very well been a blast-furnace of furious fuego,
and an open-air wholesale market for past grievances.
the old folks passed the baton for barbarian big action down one generation,
and the kids all grew up a whole lot since last season.
time goes down hard,
and it leaves a mark.
the guru of supreme intelligence,
the source of all initial decrees,
the dude of dopeness and destruction,
a.k.a. my father,
has weathered the maelstrom of spirit and memory
in the style of unbattened hatches and sorely shivered timbers.
it's been a rough road, and a long ride...
...and it sort of shows,
surprisingly less so than the miles he's ridden would lead us to believe.
werewolfen warrior poetry,
and berserker barbarian battle beastly beguiling,
and black-sailed bard business all run in the family,
but the moustache game skipped over me pretty much completely-
the unfolding future looks like damned godless country,
especially when compared with the past,
which had it's own grim tidings and rough ridings.
don't believe me?
but remember, truth tellers can never stop.
now check the teleport:
the winter wolf with world-weary eyes.
the distance between then and now is longer than the length of life i've had thus far.
there's slow-simmering sauce that pulses like blood through our veins,
and it sustains the soulfire in the forge far past the point
where regular folks would falter, flail, and ultimately fail.
no matter how hard the style,
no matter the measure (or lack) of success,
it's sort of our thing.
time travel only works in one direction, neighbors.
and we move forward as a matter of principle.
things change, or do they?
i have my doubts,
and i have my orders,
and it's all really happening.
it's ugly, and it's the truth,
and there's nothing for it but to continue.
anything else is categorically uninvited;
never quiet, never soft.....