Turmoil

I scream and cry into the void

But only silence hears my plea

I heard a crying while I toiled

Within emptiness I could not see

I’ve worked to find the king

Floating in suspension

I feel myself move yet I see nothing

I search for the crying as a vision

This emptiness this suspension I need to see more than nothing

I feel the vision as though it is another self, please find me

The crying stopped, I am falling.

I am me, yet I cannot see

I bowed before the great big king

He watched over the endless bridge

I said “I wish to cross for I cannot sing”

The king looked down from his great towering ridge

He looked on me with kind kindred eyes

He said three words aloud “I am you”

Whispers of time flowed thru like flies

Many paths I watched as they grew

I stood guarded against the stumbling and bumbling fool

And my eyes saw the wanderer lost in the meadows

I wish oh I wish I could help with my many skills and tools

And with my hand I wish to aid with these wandering fellows

There are so many in this vast land

And each refuse to see the other

Stumbling step, ink on my hand

I wander needing the king

He judges in his castle from his black throne

I approach with my hands unclasped and outspread

Beneath his throne sits an old, old crone

That horrid sight fills me with great dread

From his seat the king asks “what is your request”

I try to respond but no sound exits me

Overwhelming, all-consuming sorrow fills my breast

Before the king I stand naked and vulnerable

As I stand unable to move a voice of song fills my head

Where once there was a crone, stood a woman, perfectly composed

Seeing her I gain a word unknown which lifts me from my dread

I look to the great and high king and he smiles, oh so gentle

In the midst of rejoicing I feel, horrid pain

Twisting turning burning all this feels so mental

Struggling screaming crying but it is all in vain

I look from the great king to see who caused me pain

And in the place of the woman stood now a hulking man,

from his hand there was a spear that to my heart made a lane

When he withdrew the spear, it became so totally plain

Where there should be blood

Ink flowed like a flood.

I stopped screaming and crying to the void

For silence stopped heading my many pleas

With silence gone I stood saddened and annoyed

I turned to the bridge which I walked with great ease