airborne
2022-01-01

***

before, in your grief, you decree
"my life is over; there's no one left to be"
just remember how there's a world only you can perceive

stumbling through shattered nights as you pray
for a world solely yours where you'll finally be safe
and protected from coercion, christened Sablade

but of hell, ceasing pains, perdition terrified
"Mother, what will you do with my body when I die?
I've failed, been rejected, inept at this living I've been assigned."

reunited with your lover who swore to be your psychopomp
when arrives the fateful end of the Eschaton
you know intellectually that all should end alright
but still lingers some doubt, some expectation of blight

because all in your life has ended or will soon enough:
summer camp disbanded, work holding no love
despite the months poured in, the electronics that broke,
the remnants of childhood insisting it's time to go

and in six months, you'll finally from college graduate
having slipped by without a single accusation of hate
"Can you believe it? The worst is over. The end is near.
You'll make it out alive. Have faith in yourself, my dear."

you step back and consider the terrifying odds:
the only one in the heavens that wants a world without gods
is the girl you exchanged a part of your soul
with in Rainroom, an Outside away and a whole life ago

but to give her that world could mean Mori's bliss
and what's the point of it all if you can't also live
in the world you've created, that you swore on your life
you'd live together with her until the cessation of time?

dear child, you remembered your wings and recalled how to fly
but you're being chased to a cliff and the edge looms nearby:
will you prostate yourself and live in self-scorn?
or jump off the edge and trust you'll become airborne?

***

CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander