In this rancid twilight, one god’s sun has set and the next god’s has yet to rise. We catch a fleeting glimpse at murky constellations that depict our hateful fate.
The wakeful souls on night watch are sickened. This is the no man’s land between suns.
Another layer of illusion vanishes and the landscape changes. We are on the moon. We have been here all along, this god forsaken lunar vacuum. You and I exchange a glance full of unspeakable realizations: We are stranded here.
We’ve never known anything different, and yet we cannot suppress the impossible knowledge that wells up out hearts, in our very guts, like a fountain vomiting blood from the unconscious depth. We are not home here in this life. We are lost.
One's got to wonder: will a messenger come?
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You ARE the messenger.
ReplyDeleteJust too bad we always kill the messenger first, though.
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