My Soul is a Tomb

My Soul Is a Tomb

My soul is a tomb-

moldy 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 cold stone. 

The faint strains of a waltz

hang on the stale air like

a fog drifting across the

stormy sea of destiny.

My soul is a prison

where cave dwellers make fire

to roast the flesh of dragons

slain by knights on ivory steeds

deep within the forest of lands

ruled by fairies with 

pixie slaves that live among

the thorns of the rose garden

where children in crips linen

dresses and brown britches

play hide and seek with 

gray wolf cubs that venture

into the daylight while their

parents sleep off the night's 

successful run with the red

blood of the farmer's dog  

staining their tongues as they

dream of being eagles.

My soul is a highway

paved with yellow brick,

lined with bright poppies in

shades of crimson, lavender, magenta

to soothe the senses of weary travelers

on their journey from rough hewn

cradle to the quiet shadows of

their final rest.  

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, of saints and sinners,

losers and winners, creating each

life with new vigor, new hope, new

understanding and a vow to make 

the next journey more complete 

than the last-without error,

leaving terror of the past behind

liked shreds of colored paper

to litter the road of memory 

with bright distraction-such

attraction impossible to deny

and so begin again..

and again...

For the prison can be breached

and the highway paved with gold

while the legend will be told in the 

etching on the walls within the 

tomb.

CKP Words and Images Copyright

2020