By Terry Turner
Dark, Deep dark night beneath the cold glance of
the moon.
A tired time of lonely hours and silent minutes
in which a magik calls me away to a darkling
mirror.
There, in timeless sips, the mirror drinks me
and I can see us, long, long ago
as we, you and I, tread the torch lighted pyramid
there to summon the Promethean Fire Crystal
and play the ancient Atlantean games.
Beloved loved one, you are by my side
on the level pyramid dominated plain
with silvery streams of incense
surging upward
seeking to embrace the cold lighted moon
How else tempt the sun to return?
The clarity of the moment is too true
too clear
and, there, standing on the circle squared
my soul shivered on the sleeping edge of my mind
as it struggled to fully remember
and reached backward
thousands of years
to touch that old reality
the fabric of our tribal history
and awaken the seeds
of our beginning
The welling of tears that bathe my hot eyes
know the present truth.
You are not yet with me.
We are not with our people.
When I awoke, just at that moment
I felt myself the outcast of the universe.
My ears were sealed against all tongues
All ears sealed against my tongue.