Perhaps naught in this life is real at all,
Deity sleeps and dreams that it is so
We may dare to imagine, cannot know
Are we wisps of fancy, destined to fall
If ever time the sleeper should awake?
Picture the dreaming god who is all things
Breathes deeply in the peace of utter rest,
Whose one exhale a flock of decades brings
Eternity yet marches on his chest,
But name him not lest naming make him stir.
When deity breathes in all must contract,
The many flowing back towards the source,
As tides of being turn to run their course
The disparate align and are compact.
Once more drawn tight in union of space.
And when the breathing out returns at last,
All things unmesh and fly upon their way,
The time for reconciliation past,
Unmaking comes in turn to have its day
While deity in slumber worries not.
So moves the current, thus washes the tide,
Or worlds and time, of all that yet might be,
For dreams of gods are vast and stretching wide
Unknowable in their enormity.
Who dares to picture this must rend their mind.
Come down into the slow dark earth to wait
Where centuries lie heavy in the soil
Time running thick and slow as midnight oil
Sticky the cloying touch of eager fate
Of all that is and was and yet could be.
For what has gone before must come again
The ebb and flow of tides eternally,
With time and landscape flowing like the sea
Nothing quite lost, nothing to quite remain
Waxes and wanes in neatest chaos dance.
Then set one human figure to this stage,
Bring the eternal to a moment’s eye
Small fragile one who does not yet know why
The world seems caught up in unnatural rage.
The breath is ended now, your tide has turned.
This is a thing from a project I’ve been playing with for a while. I needed to air a bit of it. It owes a debt to Dunsany, with the sleeping god.