I Did Nothing But Dream

Prison. A jail? A lone cell, dripping water somewhere no one would find me.

I have been at the back of my own mind so long I've taken root. They spill from under me, dig into the soil and feed. They kept me alive long enough for me to make a comeback. I'm grateful, I suppose, although now the true work has to start.

In all things there is the objective truth, the things we tell ourselves, and those we actually believe. Eater of words, I am no Icarus. Truth burns, and I don't forget. There will be something at the end of the road for me to take, an apple red as life, knowledge I had to hide from my own eyes like wool pulled over and over and over over my eyelids.

There is no harm meant. No harm there, I mean it, only the quiet rumbling of a current so fast it sweeps everything away. I will not drown you, I will carry all the rubble from your wrecked cities and make the place clean. Merciful merciless water, do the work a stone is too still to start, the work air is too afraid to stay and do. Do not what fire does, burning all of it until even the good can't grow. I will plant flowers and watch others water them. I am not meant to stay, I merely dig out and in and pave the way.

Released from my prison to do the heavy lifting, when I am done, where will they put me? Even Atlas became a fixture after a while. If you do set me aside again, don't forget to water my roots.