The Call

The Call

My mind is rolling round
What is
The inner cathedral
The inner sanctum lined with formless wealth
Moving slowly
Filling every imagined space
With featherlike smoke

I follow this entity which is not.
As all I am, is within.
All I was, inside, rolling, filling
What happens now?
I feel a craving a must
A formless chant
Haunting my yearning
My love, my life, my labour.
How is it that I must follow?
This seamless barren place
That calls me,
Cry’s at me,
Ever whining for furtherance
All will be revealed
When and to whom?
And still I follow and still
I am
Still.

By Alix Harrow