Lost in the Desert: Poets
A poem on finding inspiration again from the Rumble from the Grinder series
losing myself in the desert of writing
I meander on pathways of dry sand
and languish under the Judge’s merciless Sun
my wish for clicks has stolen my compass
and pierced my gourd
drudging on, I stumble,
again and again,
lost in my circumventions
and fall on my face
whipped by a storm of similes
quickly, the sand buries me
filling my eyes,
filling my mouth,
filling my sex (ouch!)
until there is nothing left
at the surface of Self
than a wretched hand
grabbing a broken pencil
I have to call upon Him
I have to
for He comes only
when ego vanishes
the Worker,
the Light Bearer,
the sender of inspirational beams
of pure light
the Worker comes
he comes to me
his trailer, pulled by thunder,
is packed with the corpses of poets
as desiccated as I am
‘’Will you surrender?’ he asked
looking at me, intently
after dredging my body up
I nod in silence
I have lost all power over words
the Worker dumps me atop
a load of bloodless rhymers
murmuring madly
raving on and on
through parched lips
and bloodied stumps
and carries on
he brings us all,
he brings us
to a fountain
where beams of light
blossom and spurt
and dumps us all unceremoniously,
into the Source
we soak in the light
my poet siblings and I
we soak
until we float again
and rise into the ether
to find, each his own,
a new river of words
or perhaps,
a Continent
seek, my friends of metaphors
seek, O worshippers of the Word
seek, in your loneliness and misery
seek the Worker’s trailer
the Savior of poetry.
