The Piecemeal Man (abmann) wrote,
The Piecemeal Man
abmann

It happened half way around the world. People are rushing in, money flows. Thousands have died, thousands more unknowingly follow them. I am no longer awake.

My life will continue, as it has, just as it has. Though I consider myself a global citizen, am I changed by something that has irrevocably differentiated 6 billion on this age? This is what I dream.

How will the sky look tomorrow to those that can see it? This day coming, and the next, and the next? How am I affected that thousands won't see them? How would this be different if they could? When do I find my Morpheus to dust me with portends and vision?

We seek revelation, solace, tranquility - pieces of mind that rarely matter in glory times - when an consciousness has altered in so sweeping a fashion. It is petty enlightenment. I seek petty enlightenment because I can know nothing else now. I have not seen tragedy's eyes, as I was here under night. Calm and sound.

I slept through it; we all slept through it, when places of safety, of family, saw the underside of Poseiden. This is incomprehensible to to us, sleepers. I can only want to wake up and believe that tomorrow, when the sun rises again, I will see it for their eyes.
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