Worlds

Do not dissect a man till he is dead. - Thoreau

read in the saga of fleshly braille

amidst joyous shouts

unfurled

with a cry

we're thrust into a different realm

wandering the hills and valleys

oceans and deserts

'til time's parched lips whisper, "enough"

alone

curled

awakened

with a scream

yet another spent dream

twirled

in a different world

Author's Note

"Any prospect of awakening or coming to life to a dead man makes indifferent all times and places. The place where that may occur is always the same, and indescribably pleasant to all our senses." - Thoreau