After the Wave
Prisoned inside a blood cell?
Up and down the carousel;
Not feeling so well?
There’s Orcus, mouth opened,
Guardian of another world’s hell.
He bids you welcome,
Tolls the silver bell.
In Irkalla, Dumuzid wanders,
Battling the blizzard’s cold.
His shield, a worn wool coat,
Made from the flock of Mendes’ Goat.
On his shoulder, a roller whispers:
“You are not lost,
The path out is ever close.”
The casted spell,
Turned his staff into a torch.
He was in the heart of a circle,
Which shone 12 rays of gold.
“Which one?”
“Does it matter?
All paths lead home.”
In the wall, carved on stone,
Frozen waves, oceans gone.
Towers that pierced the sky,
Built by an ancient folk
Of gods who could fly.
And the runes, of a prophecy they spoke:
“They will come, They will come!”
On the way, Dumuzid another met.
He was human, with a roller’s head,
On his shoulder, a roller sporting a mask.
“The winged sphinx awaits,
Free her, if you can,
And she will show you the way;
The way for which many are willing to pay.”
Enters Phix. From shadow to flesh.
“I have a riddle for you,
Whose answer in neither wrong nor true.
I’m what makes you you.
First gift given,
When you came out of the blue.
What am I?”
…
“Thank you,” she happily said.
“I should have been long dead.
Keep these words in your heart,
And no evil will cross thy fate:
Our saddest thoughts,
Are the cure for whatever torments.”
From my book Morpheus
