"What is it like on the other side?"
I see a spaceman, but how do I know that he is a space man? He’s different from us. He doesn’t walk the same, doesn’t talk the talk the same, but somehow I feel we’re both connected. I feel like I know him more than anyone else, the complete opposite to my peers that believe they know me. Then I start to think, perhaps we do not know each other. But then how could we be so close but yet so far away?
The spaceman looks at me and says,
That’s just a vague explanation, but it’s so simple its captivating.
Beautiful… like the single rose rising from the ashes of a long abandoned town or like the bird that learned to survive with one wing.
I often wondered why the good struggled at the hands of the wicked, but then I realized that this is all a dream. We must first dream the nightmare before we acknowledge beautiful dreams… beautiful, there’s that word again.
The spaceman doesn’t have to say anything else because is presence alone answers all of my questions. A thousand words for a thousand questions, but no words can I utter can paint this picture. No. Not one.
I can only word a fraction of what I feel, and even then it may not be enough.
This spaceman is so different and so forbidden to touch, but if I could just shake his hand I’m bound to discover so much.
Edit the description to add:
- Historical context: the work's place in history, how it was received
- A summary of the work's overall themes (example: "Here, Byron evokes the classic struggle between virtue and temptation...")
- A description of the work's overall style and tone