The flowers are swaying, deep in
the hollows of the vale, violet in the
shades of twilight. I sit against a boulder,
there in the center, etched with the marks
of an age forgotten, and think.

A world teeming, cities filled with the
foolish and the wayward, men laid low,
by the seductions of corruption; and am I
not the worst among them? I am halved, I say,
split in twain, divided between the pure and
the putrescent, the wholesome and the foul.

I had lost faith. Life a blur of conflicting desire,
weary I fell, desiring only nothing.
Death touched me.

I was flying....

I saw my life, terror, rage, sorrow, confusion, pain.
All roiling and screaming and laughing. But amid
the turmoil, small and quiet, a small center of peace
resided, oblivious to the darkness, and within were the
seeds of joy and happiness, peace and silence.

Rest.

I saw, and in the realization, I fell.
I awoke in darkness, but I could see the
light. It led me here.

Here to ponder, and to heal.

And to remember.