The Mysterious Well Poem by John Duffy

(A lone voice whispers)





There's a grand old well that I sometimes visit





In strange lucid dreams





When Mother Midnight sweetly calls





My lonely soul out to play





With her golden diamond-encrusted whistle



For she is so uncivil





And all the silver stars gleam





In hungry anticipation





I always see the walls of the well





As they seem to be crumbling away but never do





All dull and painfully grey





As it sits like a tired old King





On a tattered throne

Made of brown leaves





Which surround him

Like a sea of grinning thieves





Climbing like former lovers across its form





Wild Morning-Glory sleeps like a tired old soldier



Surveying the corn





Watching Creeping Charlie advancing





With a little shimmer and dance





When I walk the path of the One





To that well on the edges of time





When the moon is hiding and clouds look on





Like drunken fools





When silence fills the very air





The dire aroma of loss and decay invariably arises





Once lost things always appear





In all shapes and different sizes





Like a visiting country fair





But nothing stirs in the cornfield before me



For nothing ever dares





And when I reach the mighty King on the Hill





The ruler of all

Before I swallow my own red pill





And look into his gaping soul





All I can see is my heart's own watering hole





A darken wet place filled with now unwanted memories





I'm always drawn to





When my higher self loses its self-control





On its wet surface

Lay old photographs





Undulating and floating images of



People

Places

Chances and

Moments





All moving in unison

In perpetual silence





As I watch and stare





A red and yellow flame eternally appears and they all burn





Forming a sensational burning red heart





A stunning piece of spiritual art





And as I leave

Grieving





Deep down inside





Walking lonely

Like a soldier to a cold unwarranted post





Back to the shimmering Blue Portal





Waiting quietly to return me to the land of the living





Away from all these creeping bold ghosts





My mystical doorway home



So I can reflect and maybe atone







The King of the Hill always seems to whisper before I disappear





Will you learn this time or will more memories





Need to go past the point of no return





Before God blows



Calling you home

On his beautiful French golden Horn.......

.........

.....





Copyright John Duffy