In the underworld
pumpkins are buried
in abandoned graveyards
Divine messengers lay to the right
of such an ancient tradition
patient in eternal slumber
beyond the swamp-like pond
where danger awakens beneath
I have held the keys and forgotten names
opened door after door in this strange realm
with snow so pure beneath my bloodied feet
spirituality adorned as a scarf around my neck
my mind has unlocked new mysteries to explore
each thought purged is a sacrifice to the writer
we die each time a vision is scrawled to remember
in resurrection the source is but one
energy I am and always have been
inevitably to be again
Poetry©Words Among Trees
Image - free domain
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