Apocalyptic Joy
This sonnet is somewhat inspired by a dream I had a long time ago that I’ve never been able to let go of. It’s probably clear to you that I don’t see the end of the world the way most people do. This is at least partially due to my CPTSD; trauma stunts emotional development, and in my case left me with some of the omnipotence all infants feel. When we’re children, we don’t understand what is and is not within our power – we have no idea what the limits are on what we can do. When you’re a toddler, you might grow to be forty feet tall, you don’t know! There’s all kinds of crazy stuff outside that door! But as you get older, you’re supposed to acquire a sense of proportion, realize your limits, discover your mortality, and that part of my brain is a little mushed. My brain is pretty certain that it’s within my power to fix all the world’s problems if I wasn’t so lazy, and it constantly screams at me for not doing that. My brain also can’t be convinced that I will ever cease to exist, so the end of the world simply looks like a state change to me, a transition. I want to see what’s next.
I don’t know. Maybe this all sounds terribly crazy. I’m having a low day. Some days scrubbing the whole mess and starting over feels cleaner.
The world leaps up to crash into your face
An amber rain like tea, like blood, like rust,
the fist-sized droplets strike up plumes of dust
I can’t remember why I’m in this place.
I’ll hold your hand – may I borrow your grace?
Don’t hold on past the last moment you must;
now it’s my clumsiness we’ll have to trust.
They slaughter the runners who finish this race.
The curtain comes down, we break and we run.
Fissures are opening up in the ground
Never felt fear with the world shutting down –
We got what we came for; where’s the next one?
Step off the edge without making a sound…
If you’re the last out, will you turn off the sun?
