I was given a shovel.
I stood under a sky of ink
On a landscape of gravel
That was eternal in every direction.
Plain, gray chips of stone
Crunching under every footstep
I knelt and prayed
As best I knew how, with eloquent poetic speech.
The ground swelled into the shape of a child.
She told me my prayer was denied
And bade me dig a mound three men tall.
So I dug
The better part of a day, I piled stone upon stone.
And I knelt upon it and prayed.
The mound swelled into the shape of a young girl, and she told me my prayer was denied
And bade me dig a mound five men tall with a pillar.
So I dug
And piled
And dug
And piled
With what little saliva I had
I spat upon stones as I stacked them
until a pillar took shape.
And I knelt and prayed.
The gravel swelled into the shape of a woman with two curved horns
She told me my prayer was denied
And bade me dig a mound ten men tall
With three pillars
So I dug
I lost track of the days I spent
In the haze of thirst and fatigue
Bonding stones with the dry dust of my tongue
Until I sat amidst three stone pillars
I could not kneel, for I was exhausted
And I prayed.
The stones beneath me swelled into the shape of an old woman with five horns
She told me my prayer was denied
And bade me dig a mound thirteen men tall with four pillars.
There was a paste of blood on my gums
I spat it at her cloven feet
I cursed at her in a delirium of rage and fatigue
Her aspect changed to a skeleton of six horns:
Two from the brow
Two from the cheekbones
One from the chin
She told me my prayer was heard
Because I had become the final pillar
She made the sign of the Thistle Crown Before she became a cube of cobblestone
Each side covered in eyes
Two Gray angels appeared beside the levitating cube altar
The one to the right with two straight horns
The one to the left with four curved horns
Both missing their lower jaw.
As if one angel were the reflection of the other, they both placed a candle of marbled blood and fat on the altar.
This they both spoke,
"While it burns, you will know light like never before. When it burns out, you will never know light again."
Hence they disappeared and a light rain began.
YOU ARE READING
Shadow Chatter
PoetryBetter read with an open mind. Best read with an empty mind. A Spiritual Text and Testament Artwork by the Author