When Nature Sleeps

If everything could bend like a river well
There'd be a million more like you who register so well
-On target; is a connection real or indefinable?
And some yearning heart would ask you to tell
Whether or not the world is temporary or sustainable

They'd have eyes like rock beads on a riverbed, I think, sparkling with one white dot underneath the sun. I'd watch the sky rush over as the water sled down into the forest, behind the shade of a thousand leaves. Everything would melt and bend, wouldn't it?

Or the sun above with fructose stars?
Cheery red or sun dried like golden wheat?

I thought that, if I opened my eyes, it would all disappear. The smell of coffee brewing would wake me surely, wouldn't it? Or the sounds of popping cherries, smoke filling the air, the wind smashing leaves and Spring flowers against my window; all of it was coming at me as if to wake me from this sleep. Before I woke up I wondered if it would change anything, to see this world instead of the other one, instead of any other world. I turned over.

In great light: the sun beamed past my eyelids and painted my unconscious orange. I told myself that I had no choice but that was a lie: we all do, and that's the truth. Choice to choose which would, choice to rise out of bed. Fatalists would argue different, but they've chosen what to believe. Everyone does, and that choice effects how they live. Maybe they chose to believe they have no choice, that the way the stars aligned made them do what they were going to do, or everything is just being played out and they're stuck in this inescapable world of cause and effect.

Would we ever be able to know? Science has told us several stories, each one against the last as we revise ourselves into higher forms of logic. What I wanted to know, really wanted to know, is whether or not it's all a moot point. To try to overcome our limitation in perspective, that is.

I chose to wake up, and all the silly little things came ringing back into my face; red against white fabric. To get up and continue despite the absurdity of our situation. And all that seems left to hang onto in the world was left in the budding leaves outside of my window; the nature that grew despite itself.

One day, maybe, I'll get to awake to the reflection of the world in some one else's eyes.