Dream Well

Something slightly different
awakens from a 3AM dream;
spilling,
the well of my soul
overflows its stony walls
and yellow,
sun-colored love
escapes out and down
coating all.
From the pain
and the very depths 
of the pain
and all that was
the pain,
this yellow spring soul
overwhelms.
The pain is coated.
It is all coated yellow.
The joy is bounteous
from my center,
I feel every part of myself
and everything else, too.
It is euphoria.
It is profound ecstasy. 
The pain isn't gone,
but it is conquered by something else.
Some knowledge or oneness or experience or
some yellow.
I understand it is fleeting
yet for that
it is all the more beautiful.

Only once before
in another pain,
this yellow.
I was not ready
and I did not have the words for it.
Hardly do I now.
The warmth and comfort
dulls the strong pain in my face,
from the cutting.
I tried to share it then
and failed,
as I likely do now.
But that is ok
because I think the act of trying
is as involuntary
as the overflowing.
I forgive my failure.
Failures. Plural I'm sure.

This one started with a dream.
Something about the end of the world.
Something about the stars.
It was coming, and what is it in those last moments that we choose to do and to hold on to?
Nighttime, and one horizon dully glows red. Ominous incarnate.
Preparation about what is to come; the unknown and unknowable. Gather supplies and plan in the face of fear.
Though this seemed more ritual than practical. 
Because it was known that this was the end.
In some sense.
In all.
I recall grabbing coffee from the cupboard,
"Coffee will be a problem, we better bring this."
But to where, it was coming.
Something in the ritual. Something needed.
What do we do on our last night on Earth? 
We had plans. Many people had plans.
Many kept them.
Regardless.

A new introduction- two, shy, whom had not yet met until that night
talked on a street corner
facing the red glow.
In the face of the impending fear,
yellow boldness.
Smiles and laughter.
This night
as could be any other.
Something new is born
at the very
very end of time.
We had seen them some time before
meeting for the first time, 
and now we spot them again
where we left them
together. 
On the corner
facing the red glow.
They'll be ok.
A blooming beauty from the darkness.

Some small, distant few
give into the fear,
but mostly
a sense of peace enveloped.
What was there to do
anyway?
Not quite melancholy.
Not quite acceptance.
But peace nonetheless.
Soft and quiet
under the red glow.

For us
some small ritual.
You returned some package,
something small yet to be done.
Put a bow on it.
A small roll of tape in a perfect box.
We were surprised anyone was there to help us.
"Where else is there to be, anyway?"
Agreement.
Some small smile shared between them
as between us, too.
Something in the ritual,
so pure,
so perfect.
Some rightness of zen
to put something back
where it belongs
and fit a lid to it
and then walk together
hand in hand
outside
to watch the red glow.
But even that doesn't matter to us
because even the red glow
is coated with yellow
as the spring of my soul
continues to bubble over
all.

And so I awaken
at 3AM
in pain,
yellow covered as it is.
I shake and nearly vomit after some time;
it hurts
but I feel so contented anyway.
And so the yellow calls me to write,
and I do.
It fades, but is always there.