The wind has left us.
She no longer comforts me in these red mountains,
No longer embraces me in our ageless plains.
She has left.
Her sister, water, before her.
Throwing the rain far away,
And sucking up our oceans.
She is gone.
We are each of us alone, now.
No more a point in the constellations.
We are the shooting stars on the blackdrop,
Fading before anyone has the chance to look up.
Because we claim ownership of existence,
Aware of the “subtleties” that our Mother hid,
Non-existence is unforeseeable.
We are a network.
We were a network.
Our Mother has abandoned us,
Like the feral bitch she really is.
It seems our past was a fascade,
We’re at the end with no time to start over.
There’s no more time.
Time is a harsh master,
But He is not the only one.
Perhaps if we go far enough away,
He won’t have time to catch up.
No time to start over,
But plenty of room.
There must be others like me,
Alone, but together this time,
With more time.
Across the Blackest Sea.
Only hope can carry me intact through such darkness.
Let not my light shine in vain.