Surely, this life is but an aberration. For have I not been oblivious to the heraldry of the firmament for far longer than I have craved to acquaint myself with its mystery; of the moon and stars to know their secrets.
Gazing in awe at the doorway to infinity whence I have so recently arrived, it seems unimaginable that I should recollect nothing of the stepping through, the horror vacui of my incarnation, the shuffling forward in the queue.
My existence a blink of an eye; my non-existence the remainder of time. Is it any wonder - glorying at the night sky - that I am confused as to whether I am on the inside looking out...or the outside looking in?
‘For the first forty days a child is given dreams of previous lives. Journeys, winding paths, a hundred small lessons and then the past is erased.’ - Michael Ondaatje, Handwriting
The King left the throne long ago, To tend to a kingdom in revolution, His people tired of his rule, Swarmed the mighty castle, As a torrent of hands fell upon him, His screaming for his cavalry, his guards, unheard, Never Suspecting he may be betrayed, By the very men, he appointed his guard, Now he falls to the ground, A king living amongst the dust, Writing upon the ground, A king now, Rendered a worm, Without his people, To name him King.