eight years pass.
the mouse-rat-bird is grown,
a full-fledged square now.
gels and pills,
months of acne and pain,
the creature stands tall,
extra limbs aiding him,
ready to enter a new phase.
the sun spins,
the leaves fall.
first days, new towns.
nobody has to know
where the creature has come from
only that he is here,
he stands proud.
no one knows what he is.
they can guess,
but never aloud.
for years after the choir clock
had struck its last tones,
he struggled to find peace
in what once made him whole.
linoleum-tiled rooms across the city
never quite felt
like the nest he grew up in
ill-fitting as it had been.
where parallelogram used to fit,
he now found squares.
in the three years
past the choir clock's last notes,
the creature finds solace in those
who would see him for who he says he is
and not as the triangle he appears to be.
and then, the creature does the unthinkable,
forgoes the magic for a day job,
bringing meals on wheels,
a corporate wage-slave at a dead end.
three summers he slaves away
under the hot sun,
under watchful eyes of sunflowers and otters.
when they leave, he does too.
the creature, the amalgamation,
misses the ebony ink and ivory paper.
there is nothing that compares.
the phoenix rises from the ashes,
takes a deep breath,
and sings.
心のそこから歌う
そして、 今日思う事が楽しい。
それが僕の真実。