He’s been here before
though he doesn’t know it.
He stands rigid
unmoving upon a
surface black as nothing.
But the surface is
alive, shifting beneath
waving breathing crashing.
Ahead, miles away
yet just within reach,
the woods stand guard
trees at their posts
nothing skirts by.
He knows this place.
Lights, translucent
but vibrant, dance
upon the dark shapes
like wisps of sand over
smooth desert rock, their
glimmering majesty
both ominous and pure.
The source of light is
unknown, coming from
behind above or
below, though he
cannot turn to see.
He can only stand,
a servant to the
grandness gleaming
before him. He reaches
out, but the shapes fall
back disappearing
to the endless void.
That or the woods
remain while the lights
fade back. He knows not
which; a moot point, as
darkness swallows him.
