A GATE

by worninshoes

The edge of sanity

It begins, a tiny pebble
on a gravel road
after a rainstorm:
a flash of mica;
a glint of feldspar;
a sparkle like clear quartz
against brown sand.
Just a simple attraction,
then a gnawing appeal –
a narrow slippery slow path.
Addiction beckons
down a lane
with no end,
only a beginning.

Consumption.
Drawn in; searching
for only a little more,
always more;
there must be more!
Soon your road leads
Along daunt desolation,
deserted beaches, distant shores
where it’s said there lie
heaps of epitome
beside epidotic epidemic episodes.
A sudden flickering fire calls
Your eye; its sight is faint
at first; it fails to understand
what it sees in awe.
Such vivid vibrant varied colors!
Skies turn to thunderous blue sound,
black roiling clouds to melody;
wind becomes sharp pelting hail;
surreal swirls rush
welling deep inside you,
spewing forth, aflame.
Reach, quick! rapidly!
before it eludes your grasp.

Too late; gray waves
pull it all away from view,
then wash it back again.
It taunts you, teases…
you reach, you strain.
You lose the feeling
tugging your senses;
you must reach again –
reach far, reach hard –
for there, before you,
Almighty God’s creation:
volcanic chalcedonic nodules,
holy microcrystalline reflections
in the haven of heaven’s release;
remorseless amygdaloidal basalt;
your will undiminished
yet unfulfilled like
cavities in copper rock
left devoid by eons of eternity
then hardened into liquid orbs
and bands and bursts;
they erupt inside themselves.
Exploding endorphins
inside you scream silently,
then suddenly satiate desire.
Still there must be more;
the shore is endless
everlastingness; a promise,
a hope for more,
always more!

On you search, plodding
slow uncertain steps;
no turning back again,
not now; no turning back,
never back; for where
is there to return
that has not expired?
Sun rays promise
Another, greater, higher level;
excitement beyond imagination
if only you can find that fire
among a billion stars,
a trillion stones;
a blink, an instant:
there must be more.
Always just one more…

A gate to places
that cannot be found.
No finding satisfies
addiction; no, its glow,
a new discovery –
not of it, but by it…
Letting go is being found.
Allow that you may be found;
let it hold you, grip you,
grasp you, grope you;
let it take your breath…

The Eyes of God

 ©2012 by Richard Kindervater and worninshoes, all rights reserved