Between the lands of Day and Night
Flows the River of Hallucination,
Sometimes placid,
Sometimes turbulent.
Most travelers cross peacefully
To the farther bank,
Where they enjoy a needed rest.
Sometimes, eddies and floods
Cast the unwary into nightmare.
But,
Occasionally,
The river ejects me on the near bank,
Leaving haunting memory of a great beauty,
Glimpsed, heard, felt, smelled, even tasted,
A beauty far beyond anything in waking consciousness.
And I wonder whether the river's source is perhaps in
Heaven.
Copyright ©2014, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons
BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.
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