Impending Apocalypse. The fear bleeds in like a raging river preceding the wave. A flicker in the corner of my eye. Is it the walls about to crumble on top of us, burry us alive before the tsunami hits? Is it the floors believing they are really the sea, willing to relinquish their shape for something more? I tremble in my shoes. The dimension threatens to fold in on itself when her heartbeat shouts, and her waters rage against the command. We’ll be late, Mother says. Don’t you understand? No, Mommie, I don’t, but I’ll try. I will reach for a rainbow to give you more colors and I will beckon a mountain to give steadiness to your stance. I will build a boat for us to survive the flood if you break your many-dams. I’ll fly to the In-Between and find the hidden screen where The Keeper has been seen. I’ll follow him behind the wall of dreams and see where the threads are kept. I’ll learn how he weaves and how he collects. And if he will not unravel the ball for you, I will learn to work the spinning wheel. And if he cuts your threads short, I will make you more instead of stealing his skein. For you I will compete with Father Time so you don’t have to be afraid, because I know neither of use would choose to feel this way if only the trap-door would finally open and we could see the stars again. And I will catch a star for you so you can always remember how to shine, even at the end of time. So please unwind, because when you stop to catch your breath, you will find I’ve been here all along running by your side. And If I could stop running too, I would see how I am you, now that you have gone to the Summerlands. Demands have been transcended. The fabric has been mended and the Time Keeper chuckles in my heart to think that time ever ended. For all exists in the here and now: all that ever was and will be, contained in a moment and a breath. So if I just breathe and connect, I’ll find the universe I hold in my hands. And the gods will laugh as my plans dissolve into sands that shatter the glass of the hour; the illusory tower will fall. The pieces are the future, the past, and The All pressed into diamonds of belief, a sparkle in every eye of every heart and soul who dreams. And I will dream of freedom and of flight, and of clock-face cages dispersed into light. Copyright © 2021, Sheyorah Naify
The End of Time
Cosmos, Creative Writing, Endings, Fantasy, freeverse, growth, Intention, New Beginnings, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships, Self Help, Short Stories, Transformation
I wrote my first story when I was a wee girl of three, followed by my first poem when I was eight. I’ve been writing ever since as a way to cope with life. This practice evolved with learning in both structured settings and through the practice, itself. In my own healing crisis, I found a process I affectionately refer to as Poetic Alchemy. Now on the journey of getting my life back, I do this not only for myself but for you.