He hovers over the crashing waves and
Feels the ocean spray tickling at his chin.
Evergreens stand gallantly in the distance
Planted in the endless bays.
He is rocked gently, then awoken.
The sun pierces his eyes
As he squints out the pain.
The sky is orange and cream,
Sherbert as a child.
The streets are littered with
Newspapers and soot.
The buildings are painted with
The ghosts of the fires,
Once filled with laughter and life,
Now they just stand.
Is this reality, or a dream
He tries to remember but is
Answered by only blurry visions
And simple screams
The visions begin to clear and he remembers
Dark hair tickles at his forehead as an
Angelic face stares over him.
Her face is weathered and torn,
But her hands still feel as soft
As untouched moss after the
Morning dew upon your feet.
“Where am I,” he asks.
“You are home,” she answered.
“Home,” he whispered in surprise.
Home, or what used to be home
Now it was a shell of a radiant paradise
People never realized it’s own magnificent
Until they destroyed it, and everyone in it
Now we are just scavengers in the mist
He felt the chilling winds pierce his skin and
Stab into his marrow.
He couldn’t remember it being this cold
Shivering next to the fire.
Then he realized the truth of reality.
“Home,” he said again to himself.
He closed his eyes and smiled.
He could feel the oceans sprays at his chin.