Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Testament to the Heap (A Poem)

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)