The crone's voice,
colder than a Wyoming winter's blast
mere moments before.
Though I fought against it,
using every fiber in my body,
I turned to look upon her face
the blackness of the closed-in bridge now muted with soft light.
Though the voice was that of an old crone
her face was unblemished, young and pure,
wearing a tunic of the purist raw silk.
That I knew but how I knew I did not understand.
She bade me step closer
holding a warty toad.
I was petrified, frozen to the spot, not one step could I take.
She threw her head back,
laughed beyond tomorrow,
looked at me with knowledge from some ancient oracle's wisdom,
put the frog 'tween her lovely lips
and with one bloody bite took off its head.
As she evaporated
into the musky air I breathed
she cackled once, saying,
You are on the Bridge of Eventual Eternity,
pass on to the Resurrected Side.
With immense relief
I started my walk toward the Resurrected Side.
Each step I took,
and I took them quickly,
even began to run,
but with each step toward the Resurrected Side
the further away it was from me.
I stopped and pondered.
I'd never pondered before.
Pondering is different from thinking,
pondering is heavier, much more profound.
I asked myself a few questions.
"What am I doing here?"
"What have I come to find?"
"Have I lost my senses?"
Then I remembered, I recalled, oh so well,
my search is for quintessence,
the pure, core elemental quality of life,
me, in other words,
I'm searching for the pure peace I've never had;
The reaffirming of my undertaking
brought the Resurrected Side one step away.
I took that step into a landscape
once removed from darkness,
forever to wander
inside my spectral thoughts
maybe aggressively passive as I uncover who I am,
what I am about,
The Forest Beyond is gone as I move into the Resurrected Side,
I am not concealed within its sparseness.
My world has changed
in a blink of an asteroid's death
I find myself naked, alone and quite, quite scared
of what I can't see
in this unstable terrain.
Was I naked in the Forest Beyond?
Maybe, but the Forest Beyond made me feel clothed
for no one could see
except the voices who bade me leave.
The Resurrected Side is an omnipresence bog,
gray, sinister and gloomy gray
o'er the life-like oozing of this surrealistic world
where the ground isn't soil at all,
and, as I trod in my bare feet
it feels like pudding squishing between my toes.
As far as I can see
bubbles like boiling chocolate pudding,
plop, plop, plop-plop,
but the ground,
if ground is what it is,
is the consistency of cold oatmeal.
As before in the Forest Beyond
I hear voices,
if voices they really are.
The voices speak to me,
I daren't speak back,
for I feel there is danger about;
that feeling is full of meaning within my bones.
The ground before me erupts into one gigantic PLOP
standing before me
an awkward looking organism
grinning at me,
or is that a frown?
Maybe a snarl.
dispirited, sad words,
I am Mortally Wounded Psyche,
look what you have done to me.
©January 16, 2014 / Jerry Pat Bolton
~ If they give you ruled paper, write sideways. ~
[This message has been edited by JerryPat2 (07-28-2017 06:58 PM).]