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And Jonathon continues~~~> I'm walking through a graveyard. Well, not really a graveyard. Graveyards tend to be small and attached to churches, or occasionally old synagogues. This is more of a cemetery, a modern invention meant to confuse death and a picnic ground, or perhaps a public garden. We've referenced it before... Laurel Hill, a sprawling, mossy, almost storybook-like necropolis filled with moldering, old monuments and Poe-like mausoleums. Rabbits hop before me. And other things watch from discrete shadows among the silvery moonlight.
I hear things in this place, messages from the property owners. Oh, many of them aren't here, at least not in the spiritual sense, not anymore. They just use it as a sounding board between this world and the next. A child entombed (physically at least) 'neath a carefully chiseled little lamb, says 'hello' to everybody. Then she sings a little song. Sometimes she giggles. One man POUNDS on the rough, cold lid of his iron sarcophagus. A pre-mature burial victim, don't you know. He chokes. He screams. He groans. He mumbles. And the sad thing is, his ghost has never moved on. He's still there, locked inside, among the crumbling bones.
But a voice from an old mausoleum urges me on. It says 'Tell them! Tell them! Tell them!'.... Nothing else... Just that. So a prophet I must be. Yet I must chose my Jerusalem... my Shiloh... my Sinai.....
Oh, but 'we' are the things that dreams are made of..... And now, they must wake up. How will they perceive me? What will they believe? A vampire on the doorstep, but one adept at Scripture.
Mortals, mend thy ways. For if what comes next is not Judgement Day... it is, at least a first, cold 'hearing.' .....
I detect the voices of other life-eaters. Some mock me, a few urge me on. How 'bout you? Don't you want the world to change?
Now I leave this city of decay and sublimate up into the air, high above the traffic on the expressway, on toward a meeting with a soul from long ago...
The cars form a glowing backbone snaking through the night...
>>>>> excuse this short epistle, but I think I'm losing consciousness<<<<<
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thank you. hit THIS ... for more... your COMMENTS & LINKS are always welcome...
I hear things in this place, messages from the property owners. Oh, many of them aren't here, at least not in the spiritual sense, not anymore. They just use it as a sounding board between this world and the next. A child entombed (physically at least) 'neath a carefully chiseled little lamb, says 'hello' to everybody. Then she sings a little song. Sometimes she giggles. One man POUNDS on the rough, cold lid of his iron sarcophagus. A pre-mature burial victim, don't you know. He chokes. He screams. He groans. He mumbles. And the sad thing is, his ghost has never moved on. He's still there, locked inside, among the crumbling bones.
But a voice from an old mausoleum urges me on. It says 'Tell them! Tell them! Tell them!'.... Nothing else... Just that. So a prophet I must be. Yet I must chose my Jerusalem... my Shiloh... my Sinai.....
Oh, but 'we' are the things that dreams are made of..... And now, they must wake up. How will they perceive me? What will they believe? A vampire on the doorstep, but one adept at Scripture.
Mortals, mend thy ways. For if what comes next is not Judgement Day... it is, at least a first, cold 'hearing.' .....
I detect the voices of other life-eaters. Some mock me, a few urge me on. How 'bout you? Don't you want the world to change?
Now I leave this city of decay and sublimate up into the air, high above the traffic on the expressway, on toward a meeting with a soul from long ago...
The cars form a glowing backbone snaking through the night...
>>>>> excuse this short epistle, but I think I'm losing consciousness<<<<<
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
thank you. hit THIS ... for more... your COMMENTS & LINKS are always welcome...
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