Andrew Gill

In the twelfth hour of a perennial sleep;
The numbed dreamer´s 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 Mother´s
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 Kali´s 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.