A Dream of Ash and Fire

A dream spurned on by the chaos of January that is continuing into February.

Photo by Juliana on Unsplash

Bleeding through the smoke 
thin pages of sleep deeper 
than a space that remains 
unknown to even the most 
powerful telescope, was myself
lost in a dream I desperately needed
to end. I was alone in a desert that felt
the cold abandon of lonely skies with no sun
and was punishing me for its solace. Light
from the crescent moon's silver smile
was enough for me to realize every
direction would take me years
to go back home—even if I flew
at a speed so fast that I could escape
the event horizon of a supermassive blackhole.
Then a man appeared. He was an ocean of reflections. 
Wide with familiarity and deep with expectations.
I don't think he was lost but I know he didn't
have directions either. He then spoke:
Are you the kind of person 
who sees their home in flames
but the world verdant and prosperous
so you drag others into the burning building?
I told you he didn't have directions. 
Or the kind of person who sees 
their home prosperous 
and the world on fire and then you go to bed? 
I wanted to laugh before I forced my eyes open
and leave such queries in the dreams I found them 
to die. But I felt he knew the answer 
would haunt me well past 
the awakening haze.

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