The Black Book of Santiago
Spiralling towards oblivion
Am I to abandon any hope of recovery?
Salvation?
I feel the blanket shifting
Acid clouds above my head.
All about my form lay broken bodies mangled
Tarnished flesh horrors await as the waxworks melt
Slow, soft, sombre, felt fabric drips come melting sweet
A torrent of fear upon the street victims helpless below.
Cooling towers upon the horizon act as cloud factories.
What hope do we have of recovery?
Electric snakes wind entwining themselves
Around the roots of the venerable Oak.
What horror of industry is this that pollutes our horizon so?
Children seek their mother through discomfort.
Fathers are no longer to be honoured.
Shallow streets fuel the addicts need for release.
I spiral onwards - ever inwards for the horrors
That await beyond my flesh are more than I can bare.
I close my eyes. I make as though I was never there.
Confusion swells within this heart of mine
For every time I drift within my thought
I find myself caught and sinking
Blind ever thinking without accepting the
Truth of my knowing the river must flow forever more.
I find myself dwelling too often with ghost companions
From a former life. Confusion swells abandoned, isolated
From dreamstates. Are we alone to guide our hands in blessing?
Who are we to un-shroud the mystery.
Who are we to proclaim transcendental truths aloud?
Who are we to pluck fruit so easily from the branches of the world tree?
We are they who have set emotion free.
No more than a flower blooming are we that swoon beneath the moon.
Open your heart to the warmth of the sun.
Allow Apollo's kiss upon your cheeks.
Seek. Seek forever more beyond the river of your flowing.
Take in the clouds as colors change - re arranging
Upon the skylines. Pastel shades are fading.
Night is awoken. Awaiting in the shadows still
Knowing soon is her time to rule upon the hill.
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poem by David Lacey
Added by Poetry Lover
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