|Gustave Doré's illustration of the poem's conclusion.|
While reading forgotten lore to escape the loss of Lenore I heard a rap at my door. Another at the window and I admitted the raven and upon Pallas’s bust it perched.
To my surprise the bird spoke, but knew only one word. I’m certain that it’ll desert me as others had, it said ‘nevermore’.
I reasoned that I could forget Lenore, the raven stated ‘nevermore’.
So I asked whether I’ll see her again and received the same infernal reply. I cursed it back to Hell, but it’s my soul trapped in the raven’s shadow and will be lifted nevermore.
“Of course you are, but why are you sorry?”
I’m sorry that nothing I do ever is quite right.
I’m sorry for crying myself to sleep each and every night.
I’m sorry that I live in fear for when you return home.
I’m sorry that what remains of my life is for you alone.
I’m sorry about the decision made all those years ago.
I’m sorry I’m forced to live with no love bestowed.
I’m sorry for never being able to make you feel proud.
But most of all I’m sorry I can’t say these words out loud.
Everything began with a single thought. A pure singularity of consciousness where nothing existed. That first thought begat another and then more. Time formed to mark the passage of one concept to the next.
A universe created to encapsulate the phasespace of infinite possibility. The calculation of perception stratified into a framework of existence.
Immensity expanded into complexity, which in turn compressed into beings with their own thoughts. Nova of consciousness sparked throughout the expansion of the first thought. A billion minds increasing in number creating a confusion of experience.
From ‘I am’ to ‘We are’. What will come next?
Face in the Mirror
I stare at my face in the mirror and I can’t be sure that it’s really me. My eyes are hunted and bruised from nights of disturbed sleep. A dread has stalked my dreams, twisting them into nightmares that linger even in dawn’s embrace.
In the mirror I glimpse a malformed shadow lurking behind me, its touch is cold upon my skin and fills me with terror. My will fails and I fall into the mirror, my final scream frozen in glass.
I gaze at my reflection and admire my new face, I think I’ll wear it for a while.
No one believed the boy as he screamed in his sleep about a monster that would swallow the sun. A behemoth that infected his dreams. They soothed him with gentle words, but did not listen.
For a full moon cycle he suffered the nightmares. His vision the same every fear filled night. He begged his parents to make it stop. His mother wept and his father scowled. They spoke with the doctor. He prescribed some pills, but they didn't help.
Still they didn't listen to the boy. Until the day the dragon swallowed the sun.
It's cold now. And dark.