7 a.m. and no Gargoyles

A thick haze slowly eats the city; drowning it in milky pudding.
There is a bright spot; I must assume the sun.
Grey silhouettes slowly emerge from the haze.
Anonymous giants, only known to those close by.

Don’t fight windmills; you won’t win.
I up the resistance running up a grass covered hill.
I run into battle or follow my prey, hunting.
Archaic DNA scripts fall into place, always fight never flight.

I can’t see the horizon; even though I am high up in the building on the hill.
What I thought a gargoyle, turned into a crow watching the morning crowd through glass walls.
‘No gargoyles in the mist’, I think feeling sad.
‘Here I go again on my own’, Whitesnakes shout in my ears.

The giants ahead are probably just houses.
There is no magic, as the guy next to me huffs loudly.
I up the resistance a bit more.
Let it go girl, just let it go! I know well how to ‘fight for’, not so well how to ‘let go off’. But I’m learning.

The milky pudding spits out the giants; I can’t see beanstalks either.
Annoyed I make my way downstairs.
There is hardly anything more real than cold steel across my shoulders.
I want to raise my hands above my head and call thunder and lightning.

But the steel will do; there is magic in the strength of my bones.
Suddenly sun-rays burst into the room.

‘The book of love is long and boring
No one can lift the damn thing’.
But I am becoming stronger.

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