The View From Up Here

Every night my soul dies.

I know this to be true because with the last cognizant sigh I can hear a sort of goodbye lullaby being sung quietly over me as I drift off to a place I know little of.

Upon waking a rebirth of sorts happens. Some days I am reborn with the strength of a man who knows his place in the world, knows what he must do and how he believes it must be done. Some days I feel the rebirth to be premature, with the desire to stay within the incubator that is my room far outweighing all other demands.

And then there are days when I am reborn into a world that is as beautiful and wonder filled as a newborns first breath. I wake kicking and screaming, waiting for the cord to be cut between what has passed and what is soon to pass.


Light comes in varying hues. Pulsing in reds, greens and blues I see the world not as a linear plane where one minute comes after the other but rather where one momentous moment hold’s its breathe waiting for the next moment when it can exhale a glorious cloud that enshrouds me with its thick grey cloak of mystery and life.


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