Poetry

Pixabay photo

By

Vickie Zisman

Howling at the Moon

One deep dark night

While fast asleep

The Lady Moon

Came down to me

The cosmic beauty of her face

Translucent body full of grace

She sat herself upon my bed

The scent of timelessness descends

Her piercing glare cut through my soul

Her soft voice healing wound to whole

You called for me, so I am here

What can I do for you my dear?

My body paralysed with fear

The words unable to appear

And only mind like crazy rat

Racing around for escape

I called for you? It mutely screamed

How? When? I don’t recall a thing

In sweaty tremor the grey mash

Conversed with Lady Universe

She gently smiled and her soft voice

Chilled out my frenzied mind to pause

Its manic flutter

She said: you call for me each night anew

To take you to the Source of YOU

Break out of cage of worldly pain

You beg for freedom from your chains

You scream and toss and kick the walls

That keep confining you in mold

Your broken fingers scratch concrete

Leaving bloody trail imprint

Your soul is cut to strips of null

Your spirit sucked by void of dull

Ungodly ugliness of here

So what’s your wish? I’ll grant you one

Just let me know what, my son

The ghostly touch of milky hand

Was cold and brushed against my head

My whirlwind thoughts out of control

My memories completely gone.

She pressed her lips against my eyes

Infusing peaceful respite

My body weightless and serene

Surrendered blissfully to sleep

This piece was inspired by Bulgakov’s Master and Margarita

Vickie Zisman

Historian by education. Corporate communications professional – by vocation. “Holy cows” in management & life slayer – by choice. Highly allergic to self-righteous hypocrites, universal moral preachers et al. Incurable, politically incorrect, cynic. Mad cat-lover. For further clarifications – you can always leave a comment on my blog, visit my Linkedin profile or connect with me on Twitter