In dreamlike states I am my other self. Called
to astral planes beyond mortal comprehension. Consciousness
alone survives
here. A body, non-corporeal without visceral umbilical connection. Among
dilapidated facades hosting gay parties; Ball gowns and ushers flirting
at every turn. Golden handrails wind up broad staircases heavily laden
with spun-glass like cobwebs. Traversing
upward their lacey relics catch at my fingertips. Worn,
rust colored carpets grow threadbare with each rise. Spirit
felt floating, the gala left far behind.
A systemic warning is felt and dismissed.
"Turn back."
Ethereal.
Recalcitrant.
I move on.
Warning is given with greater sensation as a flush of unease washes through me.
"Turn. Back."
Far down the dimly lighted hall rests a long closed door. Undaunted
Ghost-like my hand defies these warnings counsel reaching
for the knob alighting a small room surrounded by peeling institutional paint. A metal bunkbed quartered upon one wall, barren of all but a thin black mattress and militant woolen blanket.
Hints of things unseen. A touch within my minds' eye. Flashing
instantaneous as the warning comes for me, conducting me
by my arms and returning my dreamy spirit to the stairs crest.
I dare not look back.
Fear now barres me from curiosities. I descend,
leaving mystery behind. Waking
to an earthly world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I enjoyed this astral projection very much. You have a knack for telling a good story.