The mountain loomed on the right,
as we reached our destination.
I was reminded of the sight
from the night of invocation
when my mind had taken flight,
and soared to this location.
It looked identical to the vision,
I write without hesitation.
So, in darkness,
and in foreign land,
we plotted our invasion.
Cleaning sand from our effects,
we readied for the occasion.
The air seemed to cool,
and build anticipation,
but of life, or of death?
The wind's exhortations
were a giant's dying breath:
Fitful in expectation
of whatever comes next,
forgiveness or damnation,
or an endless, empty depth,
lacking sense or explanation,
like this chasm filled with darkness,
awaiting our exploration.
Sword in hand, and men at ready,
we made our way inside.
Stomachs tightened, like our grips,
upon the hilts of leather tied.
We moved slowly, stabbing blindly,
at shadows where men could hide,
and found them empty, but for dust.
Uneasiness multiplied.
We advanced through the labyrinth
where the heat would not subside,
gliding silent, in the darkness
toward the smell of sulphide.
The glow of light, in a cavern,
stopped me in my stride.
I whispered for the men
to observe and to abide,
and discovered, to my horror,
there were none to hear my cry.
They were lost in the intestine
of this starving mountainside
with only fumbling hands and feet
to serve as sense's guide.
I sent a thought out to my men,
as best I could provide,
and pushed ahead into the mountain,
fearing this was suicide.
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 1:14 AM UTC
The mountain loomed on the right,
as we reached our destination.
I was reminded of the sight
from the night of invocation
when my mind had taken flight,
and soared to this location.
It looked identical to the vision,
I write without hesitation.
So, in darkness,
and in foreign land,
we plotted our invasion.
Cleaning sand from our effects,
we readied for the occasion.
The air seemed to cool,
and build anticipation,
but of life, or of death?
The wind's exhortations
were a giant's dying breath:
Fitful in expectation
of whatever comes next,
forgiveness or damnation,
or an endless, empty depth,
lacking sense or explanation,
like this chasm filled with darkness,
awaiting our exploration.
Sword in hand, and men at ready,
we made our way inside.
Stomachs tightened, like our grips,
upon the hilts of leather tied.
We moved slowly, stabbing blindly,
at shadows where men could hide,
and found them empty, but for dust.
Uneasiness multiplied.
We advanced through the labyrinth
where the heat would not subside,
gliding silent, in the darkness
toward the smell of sulphide.
The glow of light, in a cavern,
stopped me in my stride.
I whispered for the men
to observe and to abide,
and discovered, to my horror,
there were none to hear my cry.
They were lost in the intestine
of this starving mountainside
with only fumbling hands and feet
to serve as sense's guide.
I sent a thought out to my men,
as best I could provide,
and pushed ahead into the mountain,
fearing this was suicide.
Part 20:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2196408/the-thorn-of-roses-part-20-series/
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