Lucid

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