Speaking World.

A lost soul, and the world that spoke. A narrative poem of sorts.

Created: Jun 27, 2022


~4 min read

I awoke from slumber on my bed, the one that harboured me day to day and knew me best. Many things were happening and in turn, many thoughts raced through my mind. The concrete walls of this home that I have yet call a prison, shared a comfort with me. Limits on the infinite, making things reasonable and able to deal with.

They were enough for a mind hardened by battles of the past and present. Battered by so many years of experiences and events that led to such scars forming, shown as a calcified cluster of pain laying endlessly upon my life. In time the pain became numb, and yet it still hurt. The senselessness of it all was long accepted, I’ve grown to appreciate the contradictions of life rather than try to fight them.

The day did not matter, as could be said for so many of my past days. And yet when the sun began to fade, and the light with it, I felt an urge. A whisper from a being familiar, yet so alien to me. Soon enough I found papers in my hands, alongside a fist of matches held tightly. A blink later I found myself outside my home, walking to a place I was not yet sure of.

I saw it, a lonesome place. There was a bench, trees, and soon it would hold me. Sitting down, I stared at the papers that I’d brought with me. Notes from previous syllabi, years of education. Their meaning was void in my eyes, and the whispers knew it. Soon, the voice came to me - clearer than ever, and in that moment I learned what it meant.

My voice, coming from the trees, the earth, the air blowing gently across my cheek, held me in comfort for that moment. A nurturing presence, a self I’d yet to understand, and yet comprehension was beyond me. To my mind, the world had blinked for a moment, and for now nothing else remained but us and the things I brought.

It was cold, yet I felt warmth in being joined by the world - by myself. An understanding presence, one that no other can replicate. In a time immortalized by fear, by pain, by dread, and by misery - something within me awoke alongside my body in bed, and it held my hand as I was bestowed strength to continue onward.

The papers were nothing more but kindling, gazing at the matches in my hand. The first one failed, as did the second and third. Whispers soothed my fingers, accepting failure and knowing that what matters is simply the meaning of the act I’m trying to achieve. In that moment of compassion with myself, the fourth match lights - and so it drops on the kindling, lighting a bright fire that made my body feel warm.

And so in the bright flame that my hands had crafted, I saw myself. In that moment, that singular event, a fire within me awoke as well - nay, but a spark. In the long years to come it shall become a flame, and as I speak these words now, a star. But in that moment, it was but a spark awaiting fuel to grow.

The world spoke to me, and - gazing into it - I saw it turn into an abyss that held nothing more but what was important. And as my eyes peered into the void, something within the void whispered meaning back into them. And as I searched and looked, I saw nothing more than a mirror. Within the abyss, there laid me - a different me. A me I didn’t understand yet, but a me I could begin to become.

The speaking world blessed me with its voice, as it was my own. And so my whispers continue onward, growing the flame within - the burning embers represented a growth in me that started on that day.

All I ask, is why that day. No answers. But like I said before.

I’d long since accepted the senselessness of it all.