Who do you think will be next? The cry of millions rising to the stars rising from the bloodied dirt
Sun in mourning moving away from soldiers’ dropped helmets, no one to be spared, pushed out by the anger of burning steel forests
The sun in mourning dragging down with it’s shadow the men’s faces blackened by the soot of their dreams, the dreams that insinuate, stimulating nights restless sleeping into days, as absurd as a candle burning on top of Mt. Kilimanjaro everything is evocation and invocation, even men’s dreams perhaps even, Salvation.
Sorceress in mourning, in the lonely lair, I sleep where the owl stays. At the edge of oblivion where mosses grow, the lush jasmine wears a lunar look
Stealthily, I walk an obscure route, a road where no one tells the truth where no one dares to protest… war has taken over the big house, ashes of my world once designated for the threshold, are spilled over the floor falling where craters formed and I hid behind the door, hands over mouth the moon cried out to me: rise, scatter
Putting away the mirror of life, I peer into the deep hollows of a night so blown as the sadness of all death seeps up from broken concrete and earth seeping through my fingertips, invading me
Alternate realities do exist, not in other dimensions, but in the minds of every living organism (be it sentient or otherwise). Our individual realities are constructed within our minds, attempting to process, or make sense of, a massive flow of information, at a speed equal to it. "Reality" is what we perceive, rather than an actual plane of existence or awareness.