There Are Many Strange Things Here
There are many strange things here,
I have found nothing like me,
as I wander these plains,
deep into the night,
the absence of light,
consoles me,
and scares me,
I ask what I believe to me my mother,
who sings into my ear,
throught the wind,
who I am and why i walk,
and she tells me to,
keep walking.
I go towards a horizon,
that keeps shifting,
as my footsteps leave marks on the dust,
that I walk on,
I wonder if the sky is dust too,
Dusk,
she tells me when the sun dies.
Things walk near me in the day,
always in the periphery,
of my vision,
but I feel them watching me,
they feel I am nourishment,
just as I fear they are predator,
I hasten my pace,
but my mother tells me to slow,
and so I do,
musculature yielding,
to the vibration of her voice,
messages from a god,
the only one I know,
and the one I have been formed to serve,
as a definition of my being.
I look for a friend in the wastes,
there are none,
and likely never will be,
mother has explained this before,
mother has told me,
that she grows me one at a time,
and will keep growing me until I find the horizon,
she has made me for.
I have walked this path before,
she tells me through my bones,
I have seen that rock,
the small one,
crystalline,
amourphous glass,
like obsidian,
but a deep red,
like the sun,
and the colour of my first memories.
I soon tire,
and so I lean against a mound,
made by something too large for mother to think about,
it takes up too much space in her brain,
she tells me,
it would cook her from the inside out to think,
of its size,
to comprehend,
its existence,
and for my mind,
would take millennia.
I have known joy,
i have been made to feel joy,
through the ruminations of mother,
when I have walked further than I have before,
though I have never walked this path myself,
I have walked here before,
Mother tells me I have,
and so,
soon she is lost.
Iterated,
on my own form,
mother has created a compass,
and an atlas,
much of it is empty,
such are the plains,
empty,
as my mind is.
I walk,
as I have always walked,
since my birth,
which I do not remember,
and from my many deaths,
compelled,
by mother,
I have walked for many,
seasons,
I have felt the ground move under me,
stars i used to navigate,
have died,
new ones have been born,
I have tasted the light of suns,
so distant,
that all else is closer together.
There are many strange things here,
I have found nothing like me.