Sleep Speak and Pain

The pain was infinite, like the ache

of a parting kiss between lovers 

who - though deeply enmeshed - 

know they're set to walk on two 

separate paths for an Eon, for an Ever 

The pain was a poison... a sudden sense

of every fibre and thread asking

for the escape of a black, slumbering 

death, quickly transitioning between 

realms in a release 

to something unfathomable 

The pain was a loathsome thing,

spittle and curses and shrieks into

the stifling air 

The pain was a predictable companion,

the voice in the head of a hiker, 

speaking despondency and saying to 

just give in, capitulate, lay on the battered

Earth and wait for the mists of a rain

that God gives in time 

to return the world to a foliage,

a fruitfulness, a honey, 

an endurance ... a belief 

that smells like Given flowers 

fragrant to the Meadows of Meaning 

where skulls are jewels 

signposting the seer to 

the above souls of no more bitterness

No more pain