19 Jun A Poem: Naps

*This story is entirely a work of fiction.*

On my travels, the journey changed from optimism, to pessimism, to rude awakenings, to obnoxious hindrance to somehow forced into being some sort of gladiator.

Surrounded by the dilapidated chatter of soulless eyes and awkward laughs, the light grew dimmer and dimmer until almost dull and yet still, those very hands held up to me, requesting the elixir of a reigning spirit; the monstrosity of that scenario was quite unbelievable.

I neither looked down to them, nor looked at them (figuratively and literally) as I remained sturdily structured on a pure consciousness foundation; to say the least, I continued forward.

The shrieks of ghoulish nightmares plagued the sounds of inherent harmony until a path forged from the depths of the land catered a new sense of equilibrium.

Negligent to the change of direction, I pursued a noble longevity amidst the trialing turmoil, until rain poured from the sky, in bountiful volumes, as if each falling molecule was heaven sent.

An exhibition match presented its self before me, a formidable opponent, but one in which I was well equipped to defeat, not with power, not with weaponry, but with unsurpassable vigor.

A fuming aura evaporated from me as I started to wash my hands in the pristine pond; graced from the collection of the cosmic water.

A woman approached me holding a cloth finely detailed with a special type of calligraphy, engraved from the melting of elemental gems.

The words were etched and structured in such a unique sequence that upon reading them I felt instantaneously woozy, yet prolifically stronger… my desire exponentially and fiercely enhanced as a result.

The woman then looked at me with dazzled eyes and said to me, so softly that it was difficult to hear, “I’ve never seen anyone be able to hold that cloth, yet alone read those words and still stand unscathed.”

—

I suddenly woke up from my nap with the dilation of my dream feeling like a hibernated sleep.