They existed long before us
Yet only came to be
when we were most vulnerable.
Mine came as voices
a down-trodden people
forced to answer with humility
while dreaming of far better days
Yours I can only guess
Pride, a hint of aristocracy?
a willingness to be completely destroyed,
if it means keeping your head held high.
Their moans are different,
but they haunt us in similar ways.
And what have we created
in the sums of our experience?
What self-destructive ecstasies
leaden our dreams?
And if I can trust
the polytonic whispers of my dreams,
where does that leave us with yours?
But if my see my inner-fae
all the hope and promise he brings,
Might you see that ghost;
slipping off her clothes,
drifting through her cosmic fog;
and reappearing here
resetting that illusion we call reality?