Awaiting Destiny Poem by Jonathan Howard

Dark, the room was dark,
And not a man was there;
As so deep in the darkness –
You feär lack of light.

Winds blow so powerfully,
Round and round you
Like a slithering pack of snakes,
They make you shiver.

And you try to sleep, failing –
Serenity leaves you;
So coldly and brutally,
And you do not know how you got there,
Is it a dream?

But look! A door opens,
And light shines through the door,
Like a blinding blaze of a colour swirl:
It is a mixed colour-show, splendid white.

And in front of the light, a shape appears,
A man? A being?
Not one can tell,
For it is a silhouette.

It walks a slow pace,
And goes around your chair;
Shivers run through your back:
The shape stands before you, and sings:

“Speak to me, oh dreamy man,
Speak to your thoughts’ head’s own clan.
Say your words and prayers and deeds,
For I can supply all your needs.”
It holds up its hand,
And a mace appears –
In its shadowed palm it is grasped tightly,
And it is being swung.

In one hand it holds a scythe,
In the other – a mace,
And stopping before you,
He takes the veil right then off his wide face;
You see its gleam, the horror of your dreams.
The mace is swung, on you it’s fl ung,
All manners gone, eliminated then;
No moral law,
Just strength: pure, raw,
And you await your destiny.

What will happen – you do not know,
You cannot face the future;
You hear the trumpets of Heaven,
You know this is going to end.
All you can do now is pray,
Or hope that it will not agonise you.

But, you know, it will.

(Winter 2004-2005.)