Exhaustion sweeps over me like a tidal wave of sleepy blue silk
The fluid, viscous substance slows me
I feel heavy, weighed down as though by drenched clothing
The tide comes in, and I hear the lullaby of ten thousand soft voices
My eyes close and I feel the waves wash over me, covering me, swaddling me
I slip across the barrier
Where it is only mine, mine and no one else's
A box of sand I sprinkle into my own eyes
To bring good dreams, or blindness
Which may after all be one in the same.

They said the Storm was coming.
The sky was darkening, the sun was blotted out.
I heard only the wind, felt only rain on my naked body
The scent of the four winds permeated my nostrils
And I looked into your eye.
And I smiled.

They said the Storm was coming,
That the end is at hand.
And the children, eyes open wide with fear
Turned to their fathers, and their mothers,
To their sisters and brothers,
And they fled.

They said the Storm was coming.
I replied, “But there’s naught to fear!
These men will tell you nothing but lies!”
They turned to me, labeled me a heretic and a blasphemer
And they pierced me with ten thousand blazing swords
And I bled.

They said the Storm was coming.
So I fled from my home, taking nothing with me.
As I ran, the rains began to fall. Lightning rent the heavens asunder.
The glorious noise of thunder and water filled my soul
As I drank in the glories of what I beheld,
And I wept.

They said the Storm was coming.
And as the spirits of the Storm coursed through my veins
I remembered what those who pointed their fingers at me had said.
“The Storm is coming! It is not safe! Only with us can you truly live!  
Give us your silver and your gold, your sons and daughters, your staffs and your animals! The Storm is coming!”
But I am already here.