Standing on the brink of everything which has ever
been looked upon as steps to other realms, I look down
over everyone who was ever an ally or companion for any
length of time. Watchful eyes remember every fight,
every smile, every embrace that passed thru this memory;
a memory that outstretches many realms, a memory bank as
infinite as infinity itself.
Defenders have fallen to the ground and pulled themselves
back up. By now they've all gone home. Missions have been
accomplished and journeys have been made. Although this seems
exactly like how it began, it also feels like everything's over;
and yet, I know this is not the end.
Where do I go from here? Well, however this may conclude one
or two epics of the history of everything that ever was or will
be feasible in the minds of children and realistic to elders, there is no end. Worlds keep on spinning. Doors left open find a way to shut, and reopen again, as new possibilities open up to the latter of the realms. Parents are children all over again, and children are the conception of the cosmos. A brief rest has been taken from matters at hand, and time has indeed stopped long enough for all the key players to rest up in their otherworlds for a few aeons. By the next shooting star, time shall take its place among things and resume the continuing epic which is still in the making.
I stand watching the starlit pathways into every world and
the neitherworlds. Mourning the losses I've witnessed takes but
only a second in this cosmos chamber. Serenity is about and
has never suffered a lack thereof. All the random scopes come
into a single focus and everything finally makes perfect sense.
There's no wonder that certain sounds are magical indeed; hence,
the material component used in the art of dreammaking.
