Something old and terrible lies deep within the Mind,
a secret prejudice against time…
…………………..We travel among those images
where the visible and invisible begin to tear us
from our lives, seeking that which chance despises;
restless among those fragile thoughts we scatter
all the listless ones who gather round this void;
those remembrances, ghosts of memory and life unlived.
………Who are you to question those who’ve struggled so?
The empty world believes itself to be, and in being
attributes such illusory delights to light and eye
that even the pressure of this black night denies
them the very truth they seek among the blasted ruins;
these trivial games of intent, the subterfuge of ancient substance:
forms, angelic thoughts descending out of a transcendent dream;
fragments of a demented ecstasy, broken vessels
thrown everywhere… and, between…
….Much closer to us is this dark impenetrableness, indifferent
to our desires, a realm of nonsense where neither Man nor Nature
holds us anymore, the meanings of our kind dissolved,
where the living take on the hue of the dead.
………………..If I were to hear the Call, the banter of the voices in the void,
how could I know its intention? If something slipped into this night of nights,
some fiery Angel of the Real, her wings frayed and twisted beyond telling
by the very forces of this strange earth, would I know as she knows?
Would I laugh at her weakness for coming here, for entering the blind kingdom,
breaching the gulf of shadows, disturbing the void, subtracting herself;
her voice trembling on the wind like a fallen monarch, whispering nonsense?
We who no longer believe in the myth of sanctity, our scorn
bringing us little comfort in this zone of silence and disparity,
why should we heed the voices of the dead, those Messengers
who walk between worlds, their chattering patter clamoring in the abyss?
Each of us thinks the answer that she seeks is some stable thought,
an idea to end all things, unravel the very texture of being,
reveal at last what is in the moment of its annihilation.
…..Yet, in these vast silences nothing is and nothing remains
…….accept the impossible
…….and that sad breeze
falling through things, endlessly.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2015 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.