Patrick Frazier


Exorcism


There is a city
In the ghostly spaces of this place
Where times past and present converge

There is a wound
That is a well
And back into it I fell

I see the grave, the green door
He approaches limping
The twisting tree root leg of a wise man
An exorciser of the damned

His hands close over mine
With a crinkle of autumn leaves
I begin drinking down the dusk
Hearing voices

We sit together in a room called ‘Requiem'
Mist rolling underneath oaken doors
From out our chests
Animas converse through plasmic flame
Their faces floating in front of us

His, a fawn's eyes
Ivy hangs as her hair
Slowly coercing out despair
Mine, a rounded face of ice
Of some beauty sacrificed
Sadness rising like a phoenix
Through my throat and into her eyes

Her shimmering hand glides
Above my frosted ribcage
Icy demons shatter on snowy plains

I'm sleeping underneath a shroud
A veil to hide her glowing face
Where the light of redemption rains
Across collective unconsciousness

There is a fissure
In my head
That pours in light
Until I'm dead

Memories flood in flashes.

Submitted: Sunday, February 17, 2013

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