Peace In the Nowhere
"Peace in the Nowhere"
Ghosts remain in this place
they read their words
marked each day on walls
like prayers, it gives them
peace in the nowhere
someplace relevant to go
Ghosts commune in this place
disowned long ago or walked
off the edge home, they scry
in pooled reflections drinking in
lost intelligence through open minds
that are closed
to the other world
though they think not feel
they're open, still,
back to the wall, they remain fast,
challenging poetry and clerics all,
they have lifetimes yet to go,
they are told they will be returned,
it is their choice when, they sense
they have been here before
they don’t speak a word
they play words like cards
across a table, shuffling decks
eyeing the invisible
in each other up and down
they see nothing remarkable
they look for alphabet points
in the soup of it all, the questions
they possess innumerable, the table laid bare,
the planchette was lost lifetimes ago
when the portal closed; for all that,
the cutting cilices they wear
under monkish habits they disrobe
back to naked self, like Pythia,
oracle veils are lifted daily
like some opium penance,
in the vast Temples of Apollo
they seem content here,
holding space within their frameless bodies of work
a sacred flame remains holding some innocence
they are like long lost virgins standing firm
guarding the purity of their subordinate vestal temples
invisible, but you feel them, they seem invincible
they come and go, some remnant
ancient rose essence of them
each breathes in the other
the slightly touched touch you,
you understand their nebulous echoes
not heard, yet felt
against you, some strange vibration
in the slowness wades through
alms collecting empathy
worn like shroud or sunny halo
of who they were in a life, once long ago, imprints upon you
those haunting drafts of lacy memories ectoplasmic fabrics
of who they still think they are, they hold tight to their denying
dying ego, that puncture your phantom beating heart like
pine needles piercing a black balloon
as the quintessence of them
brushes past your eyes, your unseen face,
your retreating id deflates,
the sound of it sucked up
in solemn gravity
where do they live in the nowhere?
the unseen, wanting and not wanting
to be seen - they remain attached to you
walking beside you hand on unseen shoulders
all knowing in the foggy mist, they feel like
the silent hidden spiderwebs
of imprisoned bad dreams
speaking what you want to hear
whispering, what you fear,
just wooden pieces on a chess board
of some demented, misunderstood
poor poetic losing deity
the belying hounds like baskerville
no longer bark, the flying monkeys
drop like dead flies, but the rain
oh the rain still falls like tears
under the gloaming gaslit diadems
in sheltered corners
somewhere inside you
woodsmoke ascends,
you understand, in the nether,
somewhere fires are still lit
there along each path
chanting bees like strange priests
pollinate a forest's trees and leaves
regenerating better stories
like the myth of dragonflies
the moonlight is reliable,
it never ceases to shine it all around
over peculiar creatures,
the bodiless minds of the unseen
it imprints upon each walking
the forest of Egregore,
long Night's dark significance, its boundaries,
like a circle,
in one motion,
you are captured
captivated within
the line drawn
the moonlit forest, never ceases
to hear your dark night cry
as you bend and kneel
before others' footprints
silently marching towards you
across snow on frozen ground
the Winter stories of your life swiftly surround
approaching hungrily moving towards you,
'tis The Collection,
you remonstrate for a little while
then away, you are flown
listening to angels cry,
sweet painfelt chimes,
both sad and joyfully intoned
mark each your chapters deeply self-owned
undecipherable at first, but clearly shown
you begin to understand the mysteries
of the unknown, they are etched into the way
you sink then rise, then indepently let go
the higher levels you fly, you now flow
below,
you watch those footprints forever disappear
back into their future stories
back into their own new soul hung prayers
breathing back in the breadth
of their immeasurable karma
tragic immortality on repeat
for those who choose to
remain in this place
in the waiting time,
they are daily renewed,
where there is no day
the merging
of time is delayed
why would they ever want to leave
the Bardo, why would they want to
ever walk away
they are embalmed
in suspended knowledge,
wisdom growing wild like clinging ivy
climbing over those shambalic relics
like repunzel crumbling towers
wrapping their souls around each other
like Christmas candles communing silent night
wraith like tentacles holding
around all undiscovered discovered
in mortal evanescence known as the lost
why unknow the puzzle of it all
shuffling the truth of lies in lives
the lies in the truth of a little passing death
the betrayals like a serpent
swallowing its own tail
Ouroboros
what is clarified and shown
as human dross it masters
the dark art through light
devouring itself to be reborn in self
in this place, the peace of nowhere,
the unity of all things is expressed
material and spiritual, which never disappear
but perpetually change to form in an eternal cycle
expressing the unity of all things,
destruction and re-creation, like poetry
in the heart of those that matter, dark and light
Ghosts remain in this place
where reflection ripples
across the mirrored lakes of others
shown walking across icy paths like glass
the cracks show, you can’t avoid the seeing of it
the meanings undecipherable
the images dissolve in the flow
it’s an intentional turning away
disassociating, letting go
the words like surrender flags waived
Ghosts remain in this place
they read their words
like prayers, it gives them
peace in the nowhere
where there is nowhere
else to go
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Copyright © Lady Labyrinth | Year Posted 2023
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