Prologue to a Journey

I lifted my head from the rock

And started my procession down

Towards a deep cemetery,

Along a trail of mist and dew.

On approaching the gates of the

Abbey, a man stood before me

Of tattered rags and pointed ears.

‘I have risen and will now lead

You on your way.’ ‘You are not dead?’

I enquired. He shook his head

And continued onwards, And stopped,

Reaching for the style of the gate.

‘It takes a dead man to walk an

Enlightened path.’ He offered his

Splintered hand, which I gladly took,

On passing through the gate. Though he

Was still ambiguous. ‘Many

Men have faltered through lack of sleep.’

Past the graves we slithered softly.


© 2017 AGP


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