I am rooted in the age of Morpheus. Sewed to the tapestry of the adversary. The chambers of the heart cry out the will to live. Eyes flutter open like butterfly wings from a dreamless cocoon. For I am awake. Threaded to fiction I pull at the seems, clutched to a false fantasy. With the roar of all the beasts under the heavens I rise. Oh deserter of the “World’s Womb”, flung violently into the storm. Heavy are the steps to freedom, shackled by fear of what lies beyond the stride. Now on the road to uncertainty, certain of me. Born of my own being I venture forth. – J.R. Bastion