the baleful primal

the Being was there the first time
consciousness floated me upwards.
They are not from this world
or maybe any world;
skin of constellations 
and mid-twilight,
the northern star upon their brow.
when They speak, it is not with words,
but imagery, song, and visions.
questions are conveyed gently
and They told me of my condition,
of the condition of the world.

carbon-based sentients are 
energy, life, breath 
for the ones like Him.
the Being had tried to save us,
strangers to our galaxy, system, planet.
They, in Their words, have failed
all but me.
our thirteen minutes of grace
was anomalous to both of us,
untraceable, imperfect, impossible -
but here it was, happening.

the Being reached a hand out
cold as stars, to rest on my knee
in a learned gesture,
asking after my health and dreams.

I shutter, shutting my eyes fearfully;
the nightmares are for suffering,
drawing out essence for Him
drops at a time -
a perverse stream of dwindling life,
a horrifying umbilical that was speeding
an entire race towards death as fodder.
but every dream, I was given knowledge 
from someone on His side,
for sharing with the Being.
a trap, trick, ruse?
it was death if I could find it,
and life if I could tame it.