How is it I would awake
Feet bared, toes in the dew
Of a morning built by my memory of the world
And notice then, in the purer air
That I have yet to pull the sword of the old life from me

I have prayed to what I could never see
My endeavors were ever to find it
The reason for night crickets and low-cloud winds
The type that send new rain to wash old ideas
From dusted and heavy leaves
I looked, and hoped, and after some time
Was somewhat sure I’d touched the faintest idea

But I found it here, amidst a beam of a brighter, nearer star
One enrapt in a music not for ears

For some time I waited
Eyes tender in new light
And I remembered the distance between…

Andromeda has spoken before.

Before me was a great and turbulent ocean
A reservoir of the disenchanted spirits born of the last world
And their colors were unkind and ever-changing
Such that the water seemed as a fire
And the air came from it was hot, bearing their scream upon its vapors

This, my eyes deceived, is what I had seen
I reached to my chest and found the old world
-rusted and unsound-
And turned it in me, so that I felt a tearing
And in a striking pain recoiled, sending the old blade down through the air
And as it spun it caught no light, neither did it glint
In its descent to the wetness of the field below.

It is there, I am sure, it must have rusted into nothing.

After some years, I moved from this place
Set my toes to the soil, such that the dew dried
And pried my soul up from everything I used to know
And made off through time, over the next hill, beneath the mountain
And through the dream.

If you [Log In] as a member you can discuss this work with others