tar baby

The boundary line between my world and your world is a schism, a division which might just be insurmountable. I do hope it isn't. But right now we are so far apart, I can barely make out the sound of your voice. You call out to me, casting sounds in my direction, shouting into the abyss. Your words flounder in the darkness. They lose their shape, their form, their meaning. They come out on my side of the veil transformed. No longer the obsequious servants of your thoughts, they come to me with their own purpose, their own sense, and they point me towards things which you may have never even known. Ghosts of past and ghosts of future. Woven, deeply imbedded into the fabric of my soul, your words become mine. Your words, then the hidden keys to your barricaded heart. Now the keys to my barricaded mind. The salvation, a redemption, or just a deluge to wash away the waste land. To wipe away the barren dust which has, somehow, settled so heavily over us all.