“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.
moving
Thank you, Paul, appreciated 🙂