Requiem Poem by Paul Wilson

Sure we are like the dreamers in the cave.
Not recalling our total stature,
Our dreams recall our odd dreams of perfection!
We toss, we turn, restlessly we burn
Mouths forming phrases we don't understand
Coded, endless,

Meaningless as a recurring strip of skeleton language;
Signs only, strewn idly as we search,
Deciphering mental maps
Of landscapes created in the green beginning,
- The grammar of a keeper's dreams.
Through mumbled syllables of time,
Down aeons slowly, uniformly (sleepcurdled!) past.

Time to tell, time to tell, redundantly;
Samson, in his strength and dignity
Twists coils his knotty ace around
Knots it, lumps it.
Gaia, our mother, ‘aflurias flottie'
Her face gone and murky in a sleep of candlelit dreams;
Which am I, which is he?
I am one of her curious glossed eggs!

Let me find my kindred,
Singing as they do their hopeless
Songs-in-catacombs.
Songs which turn mindless peoples to wandering;
Dreaming eyes seeing, saying, having said, mouthing
Stumbling words of fear, having heard
The word:

‘Te decet hymnus in Sion, et tibi
Reddetur votum in Ierusalem. Kyrie Eleison'.

Now limpid now
Taut glistening: ‘Yo-ho! '
So many we look so many
We go. Crystal voices in the void.
Forever measured out.
Echoes deadened as struck.
Opened as though to close.
Shall lightning come to blind us?

Point. In. Time.
.
On and on and on
Fermenting vapours in the mind
Signs only, strewn idly, fragments, bones
(O have we not mended?
Sampson's young legs have borne him already away!) :
Doomed, hopeless, deathly watching:

‘Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis'.

But see! I sing the song of pure g
Recurring in my brain in me:
Now, I hear that music softly play
In the whisper of a cool night, sacrosanct;
In the star-habitat, which is shrouded;
In this so smooth so vibrant is my touch
In this light is my beginning is my end!

Return again past memories and dreams
To find the sacred cave where all began
And revive the broken memory of man.