The Thing
For the travelers of the subconscious
I tore open the earth today;
I tore it quite in twain,
And looking miles below
Saw sights I find hard to explain.
There were things one might expect to see
Beneath our firma shell:
The bones of creatures long since dead,
The guarded gates of Hell,
A sea of firey wyrms,
The deepest mines of gold and ore,
But above these all (and underneath)
I still spied something more.
T’was an eye that gazed and stared
From flaming fathoms dark and deep,
And I recall my sympathizing
With the creature in its keep.
For certainly, the thing was trapped;
And just as certain did I feel
That I must offer my assistance
To this giant eye surreal.
For though we were seperated
By such deep and lengthly ways,
I could see the thing as clearly
As the sky observes the day.
I grabbed hold the earth once more
And thus did crack it swift and true.
And only then I understood
That it was not one eye, but two.
For the world is just the shell
Of such a great and ancient race,
And each planet high above,
Every asteroid and place,
Is an egg in hybernation
Simply waiting to be born
But they must remain imprisoned
'Till the time their shells are torn.
And as I saw the thing burst forth
From fires hot and red,
I was happy for the creature.
Though I do wish we all weren’t dead.
(2014)
