Wisdom from a Gnostic Sage
We pass over unknown lands
Eastward bound.
We see nothing.
Tunnels echo the rattle.
The wherefore fades
Of our herding to
This trembling wagon,
Rubbing shoulders
Bolt upright.
I still hope, regardless,
For a little red house,
A little white house,
Music playing
In snow-showers, fine as ash.
For then we shall be free –
Work shall make us so –
From fear incontinent.
But only a chimney I see.
Where is the pillar of cloud?
Where is the column of fire?
Will the cyclone be
The fiat “not-to-be”
From the powers that be
As I scramble, naked, up
A mound of sacrifice,
My nails scoring a riddle
On those blank walls?
Not in control,
A big black hole
Drives me on:
Oblivion.
I thought I sensed
Some thing beyond –
Surely non-sense
For only no-one
Rules this world,
Until it’s rolled
Up like a scroll
Inside that hole.
And did I see
A face look down? –
No: space-time ripples
Feigned a frown.
Phillip Medhurst