Email Poem

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Poem

I  find myself travelling way off in time.
Visiting the deepest recesses of the mind.
Where man-made clocks have no reason or rhyme.
When they suddenly stop and go into rewind.
Mingling in shadows cruel and unkind.

With a roaring sound inside my head.
Along the crazy twists & turns I'm led. 
Toward a bright light a far distance ahead.
I hear screams in the darkness from the undead.
And this is what the voices said.

You cannot stay there atop that cloud.
The wind in your ears is much too loud.
Go back down to the earth that is plowed.
Dig deep into the depths where no one is allowed.
Beyond the mist and unrevealing shroud.

At that place within your deepest roots.
You'll be able to see but will be made mute.
When you can no longer hear the flute.
Its the defeaning silence that screams the truth.
If you dare - taste its sweet yet bitter fruit.

The light is not the illusion the voices said.
Its the tunnel that is the illusion instead.

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