Sommnia Street

Where Time is a place
~ a place out of time.
Where the street snakes on
~~~ forever ~~~
~~~ forever ~~~
~~~ forever ~~~

I stepped into the darkness from the light,
sensed no movement, no sound
but an eery stillness, more wrong than right.
Sweet suburbia turned sickly.
All the houses look the same:
uniform, bland, quite tame;
disappearing ~ row upon row upon row ~
into the distance and out of sight.
Into the blackness that isn't night
the lamposts rise sky-high and lean,
dispersing dim pools of light.
Fronting the houses the trees stretch and scratch
and the grass is but a balding shaved patch.
From the distance I smell the steam,
taste the fear, but don't hear the scream.
And the giant clock of Sommnia goes on ticking.
What goes on behind these closed doors?
However these empty boxes are void of souls.
And yet, I'm being watched.

I'm standing in the middle of
Empty Street
Sommnia Street

Along with the whispery fading steam the good memories retreat.
Now I am just haunted by the regrets of the past.
It is impossible trying to hold onto the present when the giant clock of Sommnia abides to no rule.

Will anyone hear me?

~by Faith 2008~

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      S o m m n i a    S t r e e t

A complete second.

      Over in quicker than a moment. Normally.

I thought I was dreaming, it felt like I was; the road stretched before me ~ and upon turning ~ after me: with no beginning or end in sight, just disappearing into mist.

So, here I find myself standing ~ stranded ~ not remembering how I got there, on an eternal street.

Eternal streets, never knew they existed before. I'm scratching at my memory but it is a blur. What part does this place have to play in the grand scheme of things? For some reason I can faintly taste smokey steam, and there's a remnant of ticking clocks in my head.

This other plane or world is wrapped in a kind of darkness, where the convergence of colours have become muddy. (Faded, broken memories of lush green grass, blue sky, brightly coloured doors, white washed houses, and an ordinary grey pavement edging the darker grey of the road). This is a dead place, no flicker of life.

In the absence of flowers I see scraggly sticks of dead trees. The lampposts climb the sky, higher than tall, taller than just high, sucked into the clouds. From whereever they terminate they cast pools of grubby orange light. I don't like stepping in them, they feel poisonous. I know that each and every house identical to its brother, was long ago freshly painted and well kept, lived in and loved. As I walk passed them I feel their staring windows watching me and my stomach turns.

Sweet suburbia turned sickly.

Sommnia Street declares the sign. It's the one thing that breaks the monotony of the street. I stop and scrutinize it. Then I remember the train station of Sommnia; the arriving and departing steam trains, the heaving crowds of faceless people, all moving under the dictation of the loud ticking giant clock. The train station of Sommnia where time is a place, and a place is out of time. Where the one and only person who notices me, is an nine foot tall Station Master, holding a watch on a chain.

He told me to board the train which took me here.

I'd sat in an empty compartment, in an empty carriage, on an empty train. And in that intermittant zone of travel I must have fallen asleep. I had to come here, but I didn't know why. Yet.

The chaos of balance. The completion of a second. And my Self Quest continues...

                         Another second.

~by faith 2008~
Copyright © 2008 Stephanie Faith

Coming soon, the 2nd part of
* S o m m n i a    S t r e e t *

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