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This work is original, and to the people who have read it before, reminds them of a coma, please, enjoy, or otherwise not. Best read whispered, for effect.

"Structures fall in dances of swords with razor-blade sharpness that pierced through the skin of the human and the Earth.

The human, crying in sobs of help and stay away.

The Earth, shaking in fear that cries out save me and save yourself.

Both worlds falling on top of shoulders not too broad to stop gravity in its patiently merciless force.

The dimensions breaking apart from their side by side, back to back, symmetrical order.

The sounds come to an immediate stop. Those piercing, clashing worlds that seemed like bullets ripping through air and into hearts all too black are no longer there. The shadows fall and the swords whose clanging metal created sparks of illuminating exuberance have stopped fighting.

The structures held their body-numbing, breath-stopping, heart-clogging positions in the air, midway from the ground that so impatiently awaited the worlds, its mouth open, greeting with less-than-sober kindness that longed so much for the holocaust of insatiable Greek fires of infinite flames, igniting with even the smallest drop of liquid.

The silence uttered slurred speech too silent for human ears to hear and even less truths that could be understood.

All movement had ceased, all sound turns to silence; no sights to comfort any eye, no surfaces that steal away warmth or give it back, no taste to satisfy mouths so thirsty or so hungry – all is blank.

Corners to sit in alone in desperation are now round; ceilings that cover and isolate you from the world have now turned upside down and become floors without a top. The sky has turned blood red in tears crimson enough to resemble escape plans too incomplete to work and only lead to more troubles and bloodshed.

The motionless bodies of a thousand stoic beings are petrified in beastly stone ages that no falling meteor could disturb.

Genetic codes that represent master plans of infinite splendor solidify in post-menopausal hot flashes that bring momentary warmth to the world. The woman and the man in the alley, kissing, tasting, and touching each other have paused, their eyes closed disproving those ridiculous theories of parents when they say to their child “touch with your eyes, see with your hands”. Their lips open in mere shock of punishing lust and how time has stopped them in their tracks.

Either that…or the worlds simply want them to enjoy every hot second of the moment.

But time disagrees, it doesn’t believe in the words that these two had whispered to each other, ear to ear, “We’re young and violent, not stupid”

The camera pans, the color picture turns black and white, the simplicity of the devotion of hard-workers that overcome true geniuses is seen clearly. Black and white principles that seem so complex in color pictures of genius appliances are seen in perfect pixels of compressed beauty, but then comes the rain, it disrupts the picture, turns it color, hence fourth…Meet the fifth generation.

The lighting chokes the sky, its sounds crackling softly at first then booming in deep greatness and as the red tears of the sky start to become liquid in backwards motion, light flashes after sound.

The time that once disagreed has now shown us and it has decided. Everyone deserves a second a chance.

The life-monitoring devices that signaled no life at all in static sounds of no mercy have changed views and now…Beeping sounds of hope replace the mute option on the remote control and melodic tunes of soul soothing angels whisper into ears that comprehend everything that they hear.

Tasteless tongues in an alley are left with bittersweet sensations, they ignore and continue kissing.

Blind eyes whose answers beg more questions continue believing in what they see and maybe even in what they don’t.

Warmth and cold, whose opposite compositions face each others backs in similarity and difference, give and take what they will.

Her hair…The mane that once smelled of nothing appeals to all in flowery mounds of blonde whose yellow coverage of the ground is given the name of that which rises and falls day after day. The ‘sunflower’ is what skies utter now and carry through fields from east to west where they can grow.

Different worlds, different souls, different hearts - the same forgiving sky on top of the five senses and the sixth one that is yet in need of believers. "