The Point of Return

 

Hunger gnawing in my torso wakes me

From a deep, unconscious slumber.

Though I try to tempt it away with food,

Stubbornly it lingers, pushing at my ribs.

 

There is no call to a cold damp grave,

And words come not to beckon me.

But something about the softened space it opens

Inside my chest invites me within.

 

Dropping in with caution, I feel the warmth

Of a black-gold, velvet room. So I drift deeper.

The room grows smaller and ever smaller,

As do I, dropping deeper into the sightless hush.

 

A soft silence soaks me into a painless space.

I have no hunger, desires, or fears.

Something—someone—frantically waves at me

At the periphery of whence I came.

 

The blackness takes me in—I disappear.

The room and I descend into a point,

Which opens into the vastness of Nothing.

 

 

 

BBP225