“NO!”  He woke with a start, woke

But did not wake, slept but did not

Sleep; he was between dreaming and

Waking yet keenly aware that neither

Were yet a reality.  He opened his eyes,

Brushing a thick mop of black hair

With his thin boned hand and rubbing

At his eyes like a child when he yawned.

He took a quick glance around the

Familiar room, looking down at the purple

Carpet and through the fabric of reality-

to the grid of fine walkways that spanned

The void.  Then he looked at the mirror

And saw the boy from the pictures of his

Childhood.  The boy was him but could

Not be because he was him.  The

Question-mark, his constellation, blazed

In the sky as the boy in the mirror said:

“Come with me.”  And he knew not to

Say “Where?”  For he knew he was going

Where children danced whilst angels sang.

He knew not to enquire “When?”  Because

He knew the answer to be now and always.

He knew not to ask “How?”  Because he

Knew he had only to take the child’s hand

And step through the looking glass.  And

He knew not to beg “Why?”  As it was no

Longer his concern; though he did say:

“But she…”  And himself (the boy) replied:

“Will be fine.”  And there was peace without

Pain and no more questions came forth, his

Constellation faded to a slight sparkle.  She

Woke with a start, turned to touch him and

Realised…Yet another angel had been called

Home.  She vowed to slay their maker,

Promised to topple the heavens, then she wept.


2 thoughts on “End

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