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by Steve Rogers 12/28/2011, 6:33 pmProlog
Where will you take me?
Where will you take me?
Not where I had planned.
You’re showing me new ways
To get where I’m going,
Shifting my maps of sand.
What is this place? It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen. No wind blows. Dew remains suspended on the leaves. Seconds do not tick by. Neither do the minutes, nor hours. Time is at a stand still. There is neither light, nor darkness. There is nothing here. This world is empty. This world is dead. Am I dead? Is this Heaven? No, not Heaven. But neither does this place belong to Earth. Perhaps but a realm of my own creation. A dream. No. Not that either.
Every part of me aches. How did I get here? Light. I see light. But… in my head… a… a memory. I remember… something. Light… heat… pain… Pain? An explosion. But… Nothing else… How did I get here? Who… who- Huh? Is someone there? I hear someone… someone… a little girl… singing…
Who am I?
Where will you take me?
Where will you take me?
Not where I had planned.
You’re showing me new ways
To get where I’m going,
Shifting my maps of sand.
What is this place? It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen. No wind blows. Dew remains suspended on the leaves. Seconds do not tick by. Neither do the minutes, nor hours. Time is at a stand still. There is neither light, nor darkness. There is nothing here. This world is empty. This world is dead. Am I dead? Is this Heaven? No, not Heaven. But neither does this place belong to Earth. Perhaps but a realm of my own creation. A dream. No. Not that either.
But tonight, tonight, we’ll sleep in the forest
And lay on a mattress of leaves.
With wind for our blankets
And grass for our pillows
And trees for our sheltering eves.
And lay on a mattress of leaves.
With wind for our blankets
And grass for our pillows
And trees for our sheltering eves.
Every part of me aches. How did I get here? Light. I see light. But… in my head… a… a memory. I remember… something. Light… heat… pain… Pain? An explosion. But… Nothing else… How did I get here? Who… who- Huh? Is someone there? I hear someone… someone… a little girl… singing…
With wind for our blankets
And grass for our pillows
And trees for our sheltering eves.
And grass for our pillows
And trees for our sheltering eves.
Who am I?
