illuminating

sitting at my desk, cold and metal,
the recycled memories of long-dead trees
sleeping blankly before me,
my mind wanders.

all my life i've been waiting here,
silent, still, and blind to everything around.
to my left, an open window.
i feel the unusually warm breeze seeping in,
i smell the paper plant down the river,
but my eyes are blank,
the world beyond my desk is dark and empty.

tonight, the lights went out—
all of them, everywhere—for good.
the world was working dilligently,
typing and reading and writing,
each of them using and consuming.

the darkness was slow, gradual, subtle.
at first no one even noticed,
just kept working, typing, droning.
it wasn't until the final bulb went out
and suddenly everyone was blind.

except me.

i could see for the first time—
mountains and fields and hillsides,
and beside the running rivers
whole cities of rusting metal and broken concrete.

i could see them all, everyone.
their candles lit all across the world—
a soft, orange glow embracing everything
and i saw the world begin to burn.

it spread like wildfire—spontaneous and intense.
i saw it consume the flesh, the bodies, the buildings.
i watched the world die
and in its place, something new begin.

there was life, for the first time, life.
i saw love and hope and harmony—
feelings and emotions i'd forgot ever existed.
i had been blind, perhaps we had all been blind.

then the lights went out, and finally,
finally we could see.