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