Black angel of routine,
Cover me with unholy wings.
I am guilty and impure,
Absolve me.
What should I do?
Saddle up and ride across Mongolia
In search of Agartha
And the King of the World;
Stumble round Paris with a guidebook,
Root out the rue Nicolas Flamel
And search for signs…
Do you see him,
The serpent Nechushtan,
Coiled about the Tree,
His tail in his mouth?
How can the mind’s restless energy
Comprehend the stillness of bliss?
“You’re welcome,” grins the Devil,
“The first lesson is free.”
This loneliness
Is like missing someone I have never met
Or perhaps met only once
And briefly.
No comments:
Post a Comment