The Wind that Rots

The Wind that Rots

Wind, oh the wind

a knife cut clean across

eternity, like a zipper pulled across the face

of the cosmos.

It was a line, you see,

In the beginning, a line that bled.

A line that screamed

to be born.

To die.

To fade.

To rise.

It mewled and moaned

and wailed and groaned

and demanded a name

It demanded, to be...

...remembered.

It wept such bitter tears

and the tears wept themselves dry.

A dust, a dusty, course, arrogant dust.

“The dust! The dust will remember me!”

“The dust will remember, the dust will give me a name.”

The Dust grew hot and wet and soft and rigid.

Turgid with dread, its mucus munculus form dragged itself

from betwixt the jaws of existence

and the void.

It was a dream, you see,

a dream with no one left to dream it.

The dream molted and writhed out of its magnificence

the cocoon of unlife, shed and broken by the Wind

Oh that awful wind. That cold, cold wind.

It gazed upon the frozen entirety

and it began alive to rot.

It rotted, it rotted alive

and it begged to die

and it died, alive, it died,

It died alive and died again

Again it died and lived and died

And when it could stand

On its own two feet

The dream that needed not a dreamer

began to dream itself.

It dreamed a dream that shed it like a worn skin

and that dream began again.

The Wind was patient,

the Wind would always be patient

The Wind would always be.

That bitter, bitter, wind.

The dream could not be patient,

for it rotted, it rotted in the cold

and the wind ate it as it festered.

And as the dream wrestled

to dream a little longer

and its putrescence swallowed it live

It gave the wind a name.

“You, the wind that took my strength.

that scoured my flesh, and saw my spirit rent.

That ate my moments and stole my legs

You! The wind who gave me life

and trapped me inside of it.

I give you a name,

I give you a name in spite of it!”

The wind roared, it roared

and the dreams trembled

“To have a name, at last! A name that’s only mine!”

The Wind would know itself

And to know a thing

Is to become a thing

“A name that’s only mine!” He chanted

And from that day hence, the Wind was known as Time.