Zephyr Flickerstorm's Showcase

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Eight, Nine, Ten

By Zephyr Flickerstorm

‘Eight, nine, ten,’ she said.

‘Near ten thousand births ago

‘I met this world and marveled

‘How the memory did grow.

‘Reborn and numbered, swathed in awe,

‘With noobishness aglow,

‘I set off into the mad, glad maw

‘Of yesterday and tomorrow.

‘The web was woven weakly,

‘A tangled mass of intent-

‘The strands, for me, when joined, though

‘Shimmered in hues of wonderment.

‘I’d sit upon the banks of old

‘And converse with the new.

‘And beings wearing wings would talk

‘And teach me as we flew.

‘As days ticked on, perception warped,

‘Tumultuousness ebbed and flowed.

‘I’d feel enamored, then aghast,

‘Noticing one rhythm that had slowed.

‘Each noticed rise in my surprise

‘Was faintly lower than the rest.

‘I felt the numbness spreading,

‘A sense of dread gripping my chest.

‘The newness waned more than it waxed

‘Despite the hope for ‘new’ old things.

‘I drifted in and out of here,

‘Consciousness on the wing.

‘Then one day a mouse betrayed me

‘For the price of a dusk-hued box.

‘I scrambled on to a platform blue,

‘Traded notes on paradox.

‘Yet Lord Time ticked on and carted me

‘Along with my tarnished lens.

‘He deposited me home at last

‘Bade me be use logic to contend.’

‘For I,’ said he, ‘have mastered it-

‘The slippery shadow of an art

‘Which mortals grasp and try to smash:

‘The relinquishment of heart.’