My Soul is a Tomb
My soul is a tomb~
Mouldy bones of contention
litter the dusty floors
and congregate in the
murky shadows to avoid
the shards of filtered light
that steal through the gilded
windows,
their arches softly contrasting
the hard lines of mortar and stone.
The faint strain of waltzes
hangs in the stale air like
a fog creeping over the
stormy seas of destiny
My soul is a prison~
Bent cave dwellers make fire
to roast the flesh of dragons
slain by knights on white steeds
deep within the forests ruled
by ancient faeries whose
pixie slaves live among
the thorns in the rose gardens
where children in crisp linen
dresses and cropped breeches
play hide and seek with
the wolf cubs that venture
into the daylight while the
elders sleep off the night’s
hungry pillage with the red stain
of the family dog’s blood
drying on their tongues and
dream of being eagles.
My soul is a highway~
paved with yellow brick
and lined with poppies in hues
of crimson, coral and magenta
to soothe the senses of weary travelers
who journey from rough hewn cradle
to a bed of soft earth, staring at a
flowery epitaph etched in cold marble.
They amble and trot, skip, jump,
Race, fall, dance, trip and crawl
towards the promised land where,
hand in hand, they stand to
face the final judgment.
My soul is a legend
of hunters, servants, kings
and jokers~dancers, builders,
bakers, forsakers and breakers
of hearts, saints and sinners,
losers and winners creating each life
with fresh vigor, new hope and understanding
as they vow to make the next journey
richer than the last~without error
and leaving the terror of it behind
like confetti littering the memory with
bright distraction-such attraction so
seductive they must return again
…and again.
For the prison can be escaped
and the highway paved with gold,
but the legend will be told in
what’s writ upon the walls within
the tomb.
Copyright Cheryl Pennington
2023
