On a cloud,
Floating close by,
I first saw this little girl.
I was a little boy.
There was mist between, and
All around was forming and dissolving.
The currents of the wind bore our clouds
Nearer and farther, and gave shape to all I saw.
The last I remember is just a shape in the distance,
A patchwork of color, of skin and clothes and hair,
Before a crack and a boom,
Of what I now call lightning,
That turns all to white for an instant,
Leaving everything charged up,
Scarred and cauterized,
Sending me tumbling,
Down.

It rushes away from me, I to it
Around me grey mush, dark space
But there, a smooth plane stretching out both ways,
The White Wall

In the dimness I see others around
Me, going about their ways, but
Do they not see or do they
Not care at all?

I move vigorously, but stay in place
As does everyone else, but
Is this enough? Am I not
Supposed to fall?

To fall towards it (or away from it),
I make painful progress. I cannot judge
By parallax whether I draw nearer or
Not, to the Wall.

But I must. I know I must,
Make it here sooner or later,
For when I am silent I do most
Clearly hear its call.

I am scared of my heart
Beating so hard
That the blood bursts
Through my veins
What would happen then
How embarassing
For everyone to see me
Covered in blood
It would never do