by Shaun Lawton
From the very beginning we knew what we'd been programmed to think of the whole sordid affair, having realized the nature of the situation long ago, when anterior portions of the world were being colonized enough that we guarded the idea in the mind's eye reflected against the backdrop of the dream, we kept fixated on it along the road ahead as well as in the rear view mirror, because the dream surrounded us as we moved through it.
This dream belonged to us as we did to it and our home became like a dream formed around us, just as the clouds developed so quickly on the event horizon of our minds, to mirror the underside of the sky, with a celestial parade of floating beasts, just riding the wind of time to the ever loving music of all the minutes of the hour in a day.
A sweet piping heard from way on out amid the furthest shores, bending over in time toward us, to the most distant portions of the past, half buried in the dim recesses of memory, fading one detached episode from another, each one winking out slowly in the darkness, mirroring all the galaxies we have left behind.
Until the farthest reaches of our encroaching dream, the most distant parameters of this endless kingdom, presents the opening to the fortunate labyrinth as it has come to be known, among the very few who have braved enough storms, and survived a sufficient amount of brushes with death, enough to know they are lucky to be counted among the populace of this planet Earth.
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