Crying to the Sky


I am falling.
Falling-- so far--
I must remember.
What have I become today?
There it is--
"I am more Roman than Dane."

A numb complacency, rushing wind, like jumping off a bridge.
But there is no bridge, no water.
There is only me, falling.
Wait-- there is something--
the scent of flowers, wafting up through the still air
and wind chimes, and a chant.
It's like a dirge.
It is a dirge.
A song for my requiem, and may I rest in peace.

I know there is carpet-- shards of glass-- disbelief--
I know it is there, but I can't feel it, can't see it.
I felt the wind, but it is gone.
Only still air remains.

What did I do?
Why is this happening?
Wait-- nothing is happening anymore.
Everything is gone.
Gone.

I didn't want this,
didn't ask for this.
Nobody ever asks for this.
But someone has to get it.

Ashes, ashes
We all fall down