Personification. (in another sense)

I was falling asleep in class today and dreaming mid-day dreams in iambic pentameter. I was sailing in William Hughes's summer's day. It's difficult to find the reality when you're diving in and out of it. Time stood still for a moment and I nodded my head at the clock, but it hadn't changed. We were frozen here in this "techniques of poetry" two hour life un-altering class. I wish I had known that when I signed up with my limited financial aid. These may be my last few months in college as the future really won't tell me how far in debt I'll be now, I'd rather not test her weight. I don't mind, it's time I moved on to something else. My nomadic heart is pulsing again and the blood is thinner than ever before. It's cold though, because it's all alone in there while I sleep in my car and the sun makes that feat hardly comforting. But the chillness I seem to have inherited in my blood escapes and breathes. In and out I'm falling over and over and over again. I see these faces of people I've attempted to know only to find I have no interest in further people venturing. My shoulders keep filling up with the dust of two years of waiting. There was a psychic who told me I needed to point inward towards myself...how far does she expect me to go? I'm all the way inside looking out on everything and realizing just how far I've faded from sight. I'm wading in Lethe in another mind. I'm silenced in Asphodel but existing in Tartarus. It feels like I'm falling far out of sight. I can't hear my mind, because I left it somewhere a long time ago, so I'm listening to something that's supposed to make me more but discovers me less. I am brave, but I'm not finding the way. Maybe we're all lost. Maybe everyone in this class is drifting above this building, floating freely on breezes but tumbling uncontrollably out of sight. To torment the night we drink from goblets of our restlessness. We speak in words that shoot venom from our tongue tips and our insanity provokes our rampant emotionalism. We're closer to the world than ever. Our spirits have rustled the soil. Our hearts have whispered their lies. I can hear the wind cry, she's telling me to set sail, she's telling me to run as far away as her song can guide me. And I have to listen. I have to obey.

I raise my eyes and forget you, dear Shakespeare, with your heavy language and heavy heart. Where were you when you cried? Who held your hand when you died? No one. There is no one here but the sky and the sea and the endless land that tortures me. I want to feel you, world, I want to be you, I want to be with you and cry your name between sensual breathlessness. I want to become your land. And when I am at my end, I donate myself to you in your rawest, cleanest form and let my dust sail on your calling wind.

I have awoke with mission in mind and time in my eye. I will be by your side. I promise, to be at your side, my home, my spirit is native and far beyond my mind. I am here. I exist. And we are beautiful. We are alive.