I had a vision...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
a poem.

Submitted: November 23, 2011

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Submitted: November 23, 2011



I had a vision of a man wand'ring the hills

Jagged, rocky earth, surface disturbed

By footprints, unnatural pattern etched into ground

Eyes held low he trudges on

The rustle of denim against denim, cloth against cloth

Keeping the pace of the sultry figure

As he makes his way

In due time he halts, ceasing all motion

Finding the suitable point

for which he has been searching

Solemnly peers to the valley below

Meticulously inhales, feeling the sharp air

As it contacts his lungs, holds,

And bellows a cloud of smoky warmth, dissipating

through the mountainside, light shone through,

Glistening like the icy crystals scattered amongst

The dying grass

And so he begins his descent

Down the steep pathway, carved of stone

By our mother Nature in the side of her child

Twisted and misshapen with crumbling edges, like

Natural pavement left neglected from service

For all its existence

The Wand'rer is not phased by his path or lack thereof,

Long cloak nipping at the back of his heels,

Hood pulled low, scarf pulled high,

Tries with all its might to touch,

Make contact with the stitching of hood

Its one desire, like finger to finger

Of God and man

Separated by a chasm through which

Two stony eyes appear, watching the horizen ahead


Soon coming close to the foot of the cliff

The depth between mountain and mountain

Not unlike his own, he descended

Further and further into the mouth

Of the summits, until the base was reached

And with visible effort, the Wand'rer pushed on

From above I see him

Straggling down a makeshift track

Ruts of wagon wheels guiding his feet,

Like razor cuts running along the face of

Earth, a bloodless wound that never heals,

And its parallel sister running beside,

And after a time, he halted beside a curious

Flock of pitiful t's and crosses

Fashioned from gnarled and lowly branches,

Whereupon the man falls to his knees,

Heavy breathing, convulsing, cursing the air

Maddened, saliva dripping from his chin

He removes his gloves, and with index extended

Begins drawing strange and unknown symbols in the soil

Before the meager group of crosses,

The mystic characters serving as decorations...

And like a bucket being drawn from a well,

My perception distends, rising upwards

With the unfolding scene briskly growing dimmer and receding steadily

From whence I see valley, then mountains,

then ranges, then land,

then planet, planets, stars, galaxy,

Shrinking, infinitesimally

Confined to a minute smudge upon the vast darkness...


And finally...

With bucket drawn up, touching the surface

I become aware, and awaken.

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