It was dark for awhile—then when I woke up I found myself
On top of a heap of
bones—and above me more bones Dropped—one after the other, endlessly, as if
from out of a
hole—hence,
I was in an abyss—
Below me, my bones, below
them, one-hundred and
six-billion sets of other skeleton
bones, smashed and Cracked, to a trillion or more pieces, I suppose!
All of humanity’s… Then
I looked over the edge, it was high,
As high seemingly as
the Empire State Building—
(if
not as wide as the state of Main)
And I heard a voice,
it said: “You are in one of
seventy-two deaths. You see you’re no more than a grasshopper—no less
than a fly—in essence
you are nothing, you came and you left, and no one person noticed. What good
did you do when you
were
alive?”
What could I say: I
drank life away— cursed and whored About, I never knew love, nor gave it—and
love was it not
what
life was all about, supposed to be all about?
But judgment is
judgment—and, nonetheless, if I was flesh,
once, and if I was again, I’d be
ashamed, and here I lay, 1250-feet
From the first man
that ever walked the earth…
And as these thoughts
went on, like a theme to a vision,
I saw other dim to
dark souls and shadows, moping
Wondering about: all
silent, as if there was nothing to
talk about!
Matter-of-fact, I
speculated, perchance their tongues
were cut out…or if they could speak at
all.
And I tried to talk
to a few of them, with them, but they
just laid about; some mooned some cried,
But none spoke, and
still I wonder way…!
Then I saw the Giant
Heap Keeper, the Demon gatekeeper,
Climbing from skull
to skull, like steps, up to greet me:
He raised his whip of
rawhide high, screamed with his
sunken-in dark pitted eyes,
“Silence—insect!”
#3572 (1-23-2013)
Note: on my way to my bedroom, this poem popped into my head, I sat down on the edge of the bed, wrote it out on
a napkin, it was written quicker than
swatting a fly—but I do believe it has some merit (a few words have been
changed, they style modified for a smoother poem, and clarity sake). Dlsiluk (Poet Laureate)