[Archaeological Dig]
by Gordon Coombes

Visions of long ago half-remembered misunderstood
from childhood years of comforting guiding beacons
of shimmering glittering jade towers -

lost in delusions of sweet
imaginings of Seraphim and Cherubim
awaking surfacing in free-falling

persistent rains of collages of images
of a thousand shattered worlds
somewhere out there
finding their way inside of us -

multiple variations of dreams of distilled visions
sometimes come roaring out of space
out of the sky in stark hard-edged
unrelenting hallucinations
of induced visions
coming rushing towards us -

late into the long dark night of the soul
after the rest of the world
has fallen into its stupor
we continue to dig for relics
for clues among the debris
beneath soft velvety soothing dreams
excavating into the multiple layers
built up over years and centuries
into the depths of our jumble jar -

where ancient visions hide in shadows
in dark corners some squirming
flesh-like tentacles reaching out
removing us from our inane world
of preconceived time and space
pulling us away dragging us inevitably
into soft squares of a menacing eternal chessboard
from which there is no escape -

Having trekked for hours for days
for years through the darkened entangled
over-grown forest twilighted woods
following some old out of date poet
leaving the woods behind us
as we move across the barrens
the razor-edged winds
brush aside a few desperate
patches of grass clinging to the rocks -

finding thirteen misshapen twisted crosses
seven feet tall
made from human and animal bones
each one topped by various skulls
smiling grinning scowling
propped up by piles of stones
where the barrens jut out into the ocean
waves pound into the rocks
where carpets of slippery moss
cling onto the granite 
trying to discern their meaning-

from faraway in the distance
hearing echoing soundings of horns
a torrent of images fall at our feet
gripped by ancient fears
this is the world stripped bare
of all we have piled up on it
layer after layer of gewgaws
thousands upon thousands
of useless minutiae
mistaking this for intelligence
knowledge  wisdom
broken on the waves of experience-

a sandy desert somewhere stretches
on forever shadows take on strange shapes
which appear in the sky come swooping
down picking at our dried up flesh
our bones left polished white
by the wind and elements and time
here time creeps along -

cold wet fog rolling inland
time suddenly picks up the pace
rushing along -

fire-dragons clothed in shimmering gold
fly over our heads dancing round
the rising moon as twilight begins-

the god of our fathers is deaf to our pleas
only the old Gods hear us
whom the Ancients begged to return
once again their hold on this world
weakened and finally ended
who once we have been told
watched over the wise
inhabitants of ancient Atlantis -

only these gods hear our last words
our last gasp for air
our own death-rattle
the thing we fear the most -

spending our lives searching out
 creating our own little side-show attractions
of freaks and geeks fire eaters
psychotic clowns and jittery trepeze artists -

hearing the echoing sounds of the horns
retreating into the distant horizon
where the ocean and sky clash -

retreating into the night
before the Heavens are set afire
the sounding of the horns
a celebration and a warning
fading into the night and darkness
at the edge of the world's horizon -

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