Awoken from a strange dream
I stared, bewildered and scared
At the vast expanse of dawn
I could rest the broken city on my palm
And swallow a mountain whole
God, how I felt so small
Hopeless wandering is my only hope
Like a child lost chasing butterfly
And never found his way back home
Tired of searching out a spark or a sign,
I rest upon my long lost dream
That remains only by a distant feeling
Manifested by the rising sun
Impelled by frigid weather
Companioned by sweet petrichor
'Tis brief, but motivating, still
Panic lurks in the gut like acidic bile
'Til sun falls and moon forgives
My sweet petrichor
Leaving room for hope in this
World I never claimed to own
Like the call of culture's broken city,
The sun commands me to amend
When I've merely emerged from
The womb of make-believe
The moon consoles me
Lays me down on dewy grass
And lets me cry a while
Though tonight, she's barely there
Only a sliver
Tonight, I panickingly cling to unconscious life
I lay on my back, wishing to be absorbed into fertile soil
Or released to the stars as cosmic dust
Manifested by rising sun
Impelled by frigid weather
Companioned by sweet petrichor
'Tis brief, but lifts me, still
Panic permeates the body like delirious fever
And comfort leaves, adrift in the All-Before
Like from womb emerged to life,
I emerged amidst the crippled city
Without a sign of morning's comfort
Navigating toppled granite and steel
Aimlessly I wander as ever before
Begrudgingly I welcome puncturing glass
I hear a baby's faint cry afar
And I follow, but seem to never find
I fall and wake among these toppled ruins
Refrained from sympathetic cradle
And even in dream I hear the baby's cry
(In the world of make-believe
There lies a cradle of rubble
Wherein the baby's cry is silent)
Emerged again, I approach the rubble
And clear away until I find the child
And lift it from its burial
Silent now, cradled in my arms
It looks at me--
--I am in a dark vessel of flesh and veins
Attached by one chord
And I understand no concept of the world before
Merely I am warmth and comfort
Until a hole of light spills through
And it all comes back
And I scream in defiant fear
At the hole and all it will impose
I scream in frantic defiance
As I am pulled into that horrible hole
I scream in cosmic terror
As I emerge from that sinister hole
Suddenly I am buried under rancid rubble
And lift it off in a panicky fit
I emerge in dull sunlight
And witness the city of broken culture
Yet somewhere within I feel undying color
Like the scent of sweet petrichor
I lift myself from tainted rubble
And just the same I feel the city being lifted
As if I'm caring to a baby's ailing cry
I look down at the rubble like limp placenta,
And I leave and get to work
Manifest again, rising sun
Impel me, dear frigid weather
I carry the spirit of petrichor
'Tis brief, but lifts me, as always
Panic lies on the ground like rejected malady
And comfort leaves, but work must be done
The moon returns at dusk
Not with pity, but with pride
Lying me down on the dewy grass
And gently smiling in that lovely crescent shape
I smile too, while dreaming patiently
Of being absorbed into fertile soil
Or released to the stars as cosmic dust
