Andrew Gill

In the twelfth hour of a perennial sleep;
The numbed dreamerīs black remembrances,
howling from the deep.

Something in tears haunts me,
beyond virtual air and light
towards the blue but still
eclipsed and out of sight.

Oh, give me a few more moments
in this pastoral dreamscape,
before I must awake

To swim in the Black Motherīs
cavernous slumber lake.

Like a dry desert lakebed on my
minds eye,
one last shimmering mirage
before I die.

A hundred million from time long forgotten,
has Kali consumed,
of flesh and bone they were always
the mortal doomed.

A lachrymose labyrinth of misspent
ghost shadow,
this is Kaliīs purgatory abode
Where souls are bought and sold.

I now only dream of Kali and weep,
for though toward the subconscious
I slide,
I never really sleep.