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Nickolas J McKee Oct 2021
Will you grant me Home,
Safe passage to all your lands?
To taste divine grapes,
Embarking beautiful sands?
So afraid to hear,
Your voice soft & so sweet.
Angels guarding me,
Wandered ever will I meet.
Defeated sadness,
Sinks down below your abode.
Here found my gladness,
Finally breathing the codes.
Mysteries all found,
Yours & only Holy Home.
Dan Hess Mar 2021
As I walked into the bar there were already tears in my eyes. So much stress. Was I meandering or chasing my tail? I wasn't finding answers, that's for sure. I glanced around, struck with a subtle sense of irony. A few sorry souls sat speckled throughout the dimly lit confines of this stuffy, run down establishment. You'd think they'd have the means to keep a place like this in ship shape, here, considering the nature of spirit. Anything you could imagine, freely given, when the soul should rise... Maybe it was just a load of ****. I took a seat in a corner at the far side of the room. I didn't know how I'd arrived here, but I had no intention of leaving. I was too exhausted. Life had had a tendency to beat me down. I felt battered and bruised. I felt as if I'd been flattened by a steam roller. I always used to say I was tired to my soul; I hadn't realized I was speaking literally. It wasn't long before I was approached by a waiter. All dressed in white, save for a black tie. An amorphous effusion of light and shadow erupting from the place where one's neck should be. A piercing whisper, vibrating through my skull.

"Can I get you a drink?" it.. said.

I was a bit dumbfounded. It hadn't occurred to me until now that this place may actually serve alcohol. Did I even have a body? Regardless, I don't drink.

"I don't drink."

The haze blobbed and bobbed, and ebbed in mirrored tension, as if shaking its head from side to side.

"I think you'll want to try this one." It echoed, sing-songing slow motion distortions directly into the depths of my consciousness.

It was becoming hard to focus. The lines here were, or, are gray. Things bleed between. Every soft, dim light consumed the room. Every noise resounded throughout time. This ideal of a bar, this place where people drink their woes away, stowed away in the afterlife? What must people be trying to forget?

"I don't want to forget." I said. "I learned so much in life. Still, I know nothing. Still I don't understand, but I want to hold onto those lessons. I've left everything else behind."

"I think you'll want to try this one," it reiterated. "Daniel."

It hit me, then. This thing knew all there was to know about me. Not only could it speak into my mind, it could see. This was no ordinary drink, and after all, what did I have to lose?

"**** it," I took the glass from the tray. "I guess I could use a drink."

It looked like nothing more than a shot glass full of water, but as it went down my throat, an unearthly warmth and peace spread through my chest cavity and into my heart. It was the ultimate feeling of pure joy, as if I'd consumed a liquified sun. With my first breath, it made its way into my brain. Stark white, endless plains of emptiness and light. Everything dissolved before my eyes. Cascading was illusion: is illusion. I hovered in the pulse of the everflow.

"How was the drink?"

I needn't even respond. I was awake.

"Ahhh!" I released relief, and let the spirit seep.

I merged with this, the Infinite.  The song of Heaven, I could hear it.  Vibrations of eternity  surrounding me,  and written throughout everything,  the lyrics.   All different pitch  of perfect wave,  resounding to fragment  the quintessence  of this presence  to which I now belonged.   Yet, this energy condenses.  Readministered,  from essence to presence.  A blip within the static of magic.  Eye could not exist,  in reminiscent wishes,  avasting existence.   The depth within the deep  of endless ocean called to me:  to stimulate emotion  in the impartation of separation  from Infinity.   The pull of gravity consumed me.  Here, again, within the fill  of fragrant, illusory "being,"   I live to speak of bleeding  into everything and nothing.
a strange peace...
a strange piece....
Jjay Jan 2021

Let me know what you think.
Khoisan Jan 2021
I cast my eyes
upon the sky
each day it seems
a new artist died
purganan in purgatore
every hue and every horn
in and out of heavens door
Angel Oct 2020
That glass piece,
fitting so perfectly
into my palm.
Smooth, cold, round,
holding my hand tighter than any ex-lover before.
That ginger kiss upon my lips,
sending smoke to hug my lungs.

Those IV bags dripping of happiness,
shooting euphoria through my bloodstream.

Anything to keep me from feeling numb.
Anything to prolong my inevitable fall,
back to my own personal purgatory.
Jordan Gee Oct 2020
MySelf to pieces split and cleaved,
o'er the grave he stood bereaved.
When salvation seemed so close at hand,
he saw confusion in the plan;
Two halves of One he must retrieve.

The Seven Lights he sought to find,
suspended east-ward in the sky.
When once or twice he, free of fear
spied his heart out chasing deer;
he knelt - trembling before the lie.

Breathing slowed - the flowing saddle
in which he rode, abreast Death's rattle.
The numbers upward, did he climb
from six to seven, eight to nine;
symbols of a timeless battle.

In purgatory now I wait
for Flame of Hell or Heaven's Gate.
Strange personalities within vibrations,
a Cosmic Gong to heal Death's Station;
I stand my ground - I forge my fate.

Wherefore art thou Chariot I ride,
that which I've been given, hidden by the sky?
A Sphere of Mirrors w/ no sides,
into my tear of fire doth collide;
A temperamental Horse I ride.
what it feels like to wake up
Jack Torrance Sep 2020
The weight of the world,
has settled at last.
The world shifted on,
as I fell to the past.

I open my eyes,
but they do not obey.
I taste copper in my throat,
and the sweet scent of decay.

I can hear splashing,
so faint it’s a dream.
I can also hear breathing,
and I just want to scream.

My arms will not listen,
when I tell them to lift,
and something is scraping,
with small groaning shifts.

The breathing is closer,
and the breath is so foul.
It’s trying to speak,
but its voice is a growl.

I’m trying to scream,
but my voice is a squeak.
Then my blood runs cold,
as it finally speaks.

“Payment”, it growls,
in a gravely tone.
And then I feel its touch,
and shiver to the bone.

The shape shifts away,
and the weight is now gone.
I open my eyes,
and am blinded by the dawn.

I blink at the figure,
hunched over the oars,
and stare out at the water,
looking for shore.

I want to ask the question,
but then I see his hands.
There’s no doubting the decay,
of the limbo ferryman.
Ruheen Aug 13
if only we could exist
for a single moment
at only one place
for only a memory
that would be solely ours

but we are flesh and blood
we travel and continue
to exist at different times
in different places
we cannot seem to stop
yet we believe
our existence
is extraordinary

when will we realise
that even the extraordinary
is ordinary?
....figure it out. I'm going to sleep.
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