Tuesday, June 13, 2006

3AM and profundity

I don't know what it was, but I was just awake. 3AM, a doctor's appointment less than 12 hours distant and I'm thinking about pain, a light shining across the way and a child. Not just any child; one I can't quite remember as though he's mine but I never met him. He's fading, maybe just an emotion from a passing dream.

There's a lady in the light. Her black face masked by the incandescent halo. The mother of god? No, more likely the child. Or is she just as meaningless as the dirty bricks of the building that frame her?

Then there's the pain again. The smell of antiseptic purity, cold, relentless, calculating and inevitable. The science of healing turns the mystic into a martyr for some lost meaning, driven out by reason. The stigmata of the spine and belly and knees, remnants of past glory, drained and lifeless except for the pain.

Somewhere, a colloseum stands dark and empty, save one warrior standing under an arch. The field, dusty and cool, is not the same. Sunset is well gone. Only distant stars remain.

The child fades now. Was he ever there? Like I said, it's 3AM and the good doctor is sleeping. I am not.


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