Ah, about that Emperor…

What do people without an ancient tree

Outside their window dream of?

My own nights are guided

My thoughts rooted through and

The soil exposed, so that I toss

And turn, wake up blearily

In the hold of a narrative

Repeated like a list of wrongs

I’ve endured, ensorcelled

By a frightened being

Insistent upon protecting

Me from the evils lurking

Without, building a solid

Cage to help me survive.

My tree sends me downloads

That open in the night, snaking

Through the fractures of my 

Constructed reality, illustrating

The sheer lunacy 

Live on stage

This sullen detailing

Snuffing out any probability,

Any compassion for the other

Who struck out in her own fear.

And this rewritten history

To ensure that anyone listening

Will feel oh, so sorry

For….who?  Fully awakened at five,

Lucidity-impelled to let this go.

No matter how far along the path

Of self-healing, I drag

These patterns of sheer

Survival.  In the day, easily dismissed,

A sugary smile and a cookie,

An offer for an outing,

until in the darkness,

The little voice insistent

As the tired adult slumbers.

I leave my bed, read an email

— A comedy show poking fun

At the cultural dissonance

Between the lies absorbed at childhood

That keep piling down

Blizzards of misinformation

Covering up the stark truth.

The murmuration of starlings

Yesterday bursting from the bare

Branches of this Poplar.

I cling to the tale of the clear-

Seeing child declaring the naked

Truth, waking me

until I hawk and harrumph

Through this throat-closing mucus

To sing:

Separation is a lie.

Our walls are built

To keep us busy as

The few enrich themselves

Destroying and selling the remains

of the age-old beings

Who reach us in our sleep.


Billions of years of intelligence

Coursing through us, invisible,

Unutterable, the harmonic sounds

In registers we ignore.

The evil trance-talk keeping us

Apart, dozing instead of embracing

Trees, bees, birds and coyotes —

And oh, goddess, where are the elephants?

Their stomping rampage an echo

The smallest children hear, surprised.

We re-member our connection

Recognizing the sentience

Right outside these doors

That we coveted for so long

The ones that now resemble

Sterile jails, like the cars we huddle 

In, driving past our hopeless

brothers holding

Childish scrawls for help,

Reacting angrily to a clear-cutting

That we forget as soon as we pass,

Led to exclude

The very best parts of ourselves

That growl and pounce and scream

And squirm, anguished,




We reach to reclaim.

Inspired by: Lunacy and Ensorcell

And Lee Camp’s new comedy special. Check it out here.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

2 thoughts on “Ah, about that Emperor…”

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