Tuesday, March 1, 2016
Rosamund’s Limbo (A poem)
. . .
To die and not be noticed—
Or to feel you have not been noticed!
Now exiled to another existence, wherever!
Perhaps to an expanse where you are hidden in a ripple of time!
She, Rosamund, couldn’t say!
But no beings spoke of man, or woman wherever she was—
A moment later, when she became aware, the first days had already passed…
Days in silence.
A merciless silence, in a land inhabited by stones and beings unknown.
This is how it was, things sprang up, then disappeared—
‘One minute alive, the next then dead!’
She told herself over and over: ‘…one moment alive, the next dead...’
Nothing mattered: eating, sleeping, talking, nothing at all mattered!
‘Someone is pouting!’ she whispered, ‘But where?’ she saw nobody.
Then she saw beings with animal mouths.
Then she saw shadows, everything shadows, shades, eclipses of beings.
Beings that appeared to congeal, harden as they came more alive, as if using less energy…
Where from? Some window, in some unknown forward-dimension.
The fainted beings increased, then they moaned, disappeared.
As time must have passed, where time seems not to have existed, familiar as it was becoming, a strange bond developed between them and her!
As if all were joined together, in the same boat! Beyond their differences.
Was she still alive?
In a dream of fatigue?
She stirred imperceptibly, with this statement-question—!
Thus came a somnambulistic moment, ‘I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming,’ she told herself.
She repeated this over 100, no 1000, no 10,000 times, as then she stopped to take her inventory, feeling strangely empty and venerable…
The Ground echoed.
This whole place was of crumbling rock and sand, and in the distance was a faint path.
Vapor was rising covering the path.
It was as if teasing her.
She figured if she took it, it would lead to no place, to nothingness, no fork in the road, as Robert Frost, once implanted in a poem.
Then she looked beneath her knees, a clumsy hand had traced in the sand the inscription “You must await trial, you must pay!”
It was as if an invisible hand had reached all the way to her, alone.
Copyright © by Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. h.c.