The Dark Shimmering Deep for all the prophets in rags by Bob MacKenzie I walk a wilderness of concrete streets, I speak to the wind, I cry out to the sky, and if heard at all I am never heeded. I have seen how thin is the line and how frail the membrane between us, between the light and the dark shimmering entity ripping the membrane. I have gone too far and have seen too much, have stepped into that too near night and seen the dark shimmering deep at its heart. I have been to the heart of that place, have been taken into its enchanted arms and am not yet free nor ever will be. I stand at the gate to that glorious garden, barred by crested iron from going farther into the light flooding its farthest reach. I stand at the gate to a garden of darkness as it draws me back, cling to the iron gate between me and the sunlit garden just beyond. I walk the streets of the city crying out a warning; I stand before the masses moving toward the dark beyond the swelling membrane. I speak to the wind, I cry out to the sky, and if heard at all I am never heeded; I walk a wilderness of concrete streets. I do not know who is walking beside me and I do not hear the voice so near to me; I am blinded and do not know this garden. I think I walk through the garden alone, but it seems that someone walks with me and it seems that someone talks with me. I have not walked at all in this garden or that; a prophet in the wilderness I stand between two worlds and cry out. I feel in my hands the cold of iron bars and my eyes burn with the light beyond as the darkness pulls my heart and soul. I walk the streets of the city crying out a warning; yet still the masses swell and press endless into that dark shimmering deep night. I am invisible; I am unheard; I am a prophet crying out in the wilderness; I am nothing to those who seek the light through darkness. It is done; I cling to this great iron gate as worlds fall away from me, as worlds fall and crash into chaos and darkness, and I cry. I cry out to the sky, I speak to the wind, I walk a wilderness of concrete streets, and if heard at all I am never heeded. |