The Nine

At night, the call to unconscious crawling,

to brawl in my mind as I’m falling.

I make no sound and plunge below,

then fall up higher as I slow.

I twist and bend, then blink away.

He is me; he fades to grey.

His face is mine, his mind is dark;

my soul in mind, I disembark.

He joins in me — in me and I.

We morph inside; I still deny.

Joined by fate or by design,

accepting, I plunge on to nine.

Nine lights behind me, shining brightly,

angelic faces fading slightly,

formed in darkened forms of light —

they hide behind, in dark delight,

sending tendrils down to Earth,

the ground above me giving birth

to bright young angels flying firm.

The revelation makes us squirm.

I — we — it — wriggles near a void.

I sink and swim fast to avoid

this void surrounding everything,

these darkened angels — what they bring.

The song behind illusion sways,

an evil force inside the fray.

The little devils call to Earth;

the nine declare the new rebirth.

I slip again and slide through time;

through nonexistent space I climb.

A moment is infinity —

I see a distant formed vicinity.

I’m back at night, in bed and sprawled.

A sudden twinge when I recall:

was I here, and are we real?

An eerie feeling makes us reel.

I realize I am not alone,

surrounded by a room of clones.

We knew we never would be whole;

we knew the dark light tore our soul —

to delve inside the mind of all,

the universe’s endless halls.

Removed from space, I can’t sustain;

we can’t remain; we try in vain...

I force myself from the dark vision —

one fabric left from dark decisions.

I hand the doctor a note in pen:

“The darkness comes. I know not when.”