Today I awoke unto a world I have never known.
Trees half bare, and leaves so fair, as if all their color was gone.
The grass I knew no longer grew upon the shattered soil I lay.
I rose to stand with both my hands needed to lift me up.
In this place I gazed there was no longer a trace of animal life or death.
I observed the spot from whence I rose with horror and dismay.
For like the flash of a cold winter's bath I knew that I was dead.
This was not a grave or even the way that I should have been put to rest.
From the balded earth I knew that I had been placed here long ago.
My face, though, felt as it had never left; which puzzled me much more so.
If I were dead, and this is Hell, then why am I so alone?
Surely I must have been mistaken, a coma patient stolen away.
But what of this scene, like an inanimate dream, where even the wind was still?
With my attempt to walk I noticed a fault, my memory began to fade.
Only when still could I remain the person I was once before.
How do I know, without a catch, that this is not a dream?
Such questions are sad, for the answer I had was that I was not afraid.
So often I dreamt of my own slow death so I knew my own mentality.
I ventured to walk, like a zombie I strode and found my way to a tree.
Nary a drop of water had its bark ever known within this life.
I could not guess, nor sustain the thoughts, of how such a tree could live.
Using the need to find a way out I forced myself down a dead path.
I know not where it is I will venture; but that will not hinder my wandering ways.
Adding your comment: