A Martyr’s Dream

I woke up, deep from sleep,
I was at my life’s end, face-to-faceless with a great force,
Tidal in nature but not composition.
This wave shook the world;
Turned up reminders and artifacts of the years past.
Engulfed them, consumed them, left nothing.
A few of us watched silently while this mobile ocean crept over the land,
Eventually abandoning its subtle tactics in favor of brute force.
Nothing was safe, we found much too late.
Not our castles, not our stories, not our projects;
Only Nothing was guaranteed and delivered.
We were fools, for sure.
Thought we could pull the drops from the Great Lake, one by one,
Solidify them, to add to the Resistance.
This was not our fate.
Everytime we reached back in to the water, to grab another,
Our first accomplishment melted once more,
Having spent too much time waiting under the harsh conditions of the Sun.
Nature, it seems, is against us.
She has sided with them, bestowing her blessing on their war.
Surely, it is difficult to do battle against a goddess.
Forget not though, which is to say remember, the goddess of our own that guides our actions;
The sweet, empowering mother of our world: Truth.
We are, perhaps, not so alone for our journey,
Until we reach the destination.
As my dream stepped towards its closing,
I found myself in an open field at the sea’s edge that I imagined to share the look of Elysium.
It was here that I watched the tidal ‘cleansing’ of the land I made my home upon;
Here, I saw the resistance wash away from men’s eyes;
felt the echo of apathy, emanating from men’s hearts when I called them to battle.
It was on this plain, that I saw the human race die.
The last scene of my ‘dream’ I recall quite vividly:
The great crashing wave rolled over the land all around me,
Engulfing; consuming; nothing.
I faced my death in that hour, stared at this watery mortician obstinately and spoke these words:
“You have come, taking the weak-willed first, to absolve me of my sins by force, no? I committed atrocities against your denizens, who make their home in your indifference; incited treason against your kingdoms, that pillaged my brother’s passion and souls; I murdered your offspring and resurrected in their place mercenaries, paid with poetry and thought in place of gold. And for this, you feel it necessary to make an example of me, to quell that deep-rooted passion for life within every drop of you. You cannot have rebellion. There is no room for choice in a sea, nor ocean, nor river. You convinced my brothers they were destined to become a part, not a whole. It was proven by your great God of Science, upon the appeal to Mother Nature. I regret to inform you, that you will not take me. You will have no reign over me, and if it is to be that such a decision ends my life, I choose it still. This is a choice between two deaths, one noble and one futile, so at least my last action has potential, instead of serving as a tool of oppression and silencing. I refuse you, Great Water, and all your empty promises.”
With this, a great fury pushed the ocean to great heights,
As if to crash down upon my body and end everything I have known.
But as the water neared, my soul caught flame, igniting my body and the ocean with it.
This passion burned through half of this great water’s mass,
Sending the individual drops up to the skies, where they incubated,
Waiting to be reborn once again as single drops.
The ocean was not destroyed, only weakened.
But with my action, I had resurrected a small, glimmering chance for the human race.
That is my dream.
Epic in proportions, assuredly.
But I swear to you,
It did not share that hazy feeling of dreams,
But rather,
Shone with clarity that epiphanies give off.
Perhaps there is something to dreams, no?
Romantic, of course,
But then again, should not life be?

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