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I am almost alive, but I live in terror of being truly living
I am formed now of dreams, and the weight of the world is off me
But I am afraid that the dreams will merely be a lie
And vanish into the moonlit snow, leaving me a shadow like death
So I quiver on the brink of decision, body humming with power
Born of joy and terror mixed, quivering, almost alive yet afraid
That to be alive will make me not what I wish, but what I fear
"you have all the power you need, if you dare to look for it"
Or if I dare to take it, knowing that I'll no longer be me
I've just read The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle. Some of the humor is like the Discworld books by Terry Pratchett, but the underlying story is so much more coherent and powerful... I'm left with a desire to leave the mundane reality of college applications, physics labs, and tasteless food behind--to become me, whoever (whereever) I might be--but I can't, I'm afraid I might be a demon. I can't murder; to be something that feeds on it would be worse than death.
I see the unicorns, pure beauty captured in shining body, and it all has the feverish quality of a half-remembered dream that forever lurks in the shadows of the mind, daring the dreamer to try and return....
(There used to be a comments form here. However, having seen what I get when I make it easy to comment, that form has been indefinitely suspended. I can still be reached by email at <loonxtall@hotmail.com>. I apologize for any inconvenience.)
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