Back in the first house I called my home,
I spied a map in the front window.
Encoded and golden,
it's language the places I visited during the Summer.
We used to save the fish there,
Keep them from being caught by rogues
With eyes like toads,
Preying on the animals
By feeding them corners to huddle up in.
The Ink Line;
A place where lost time
Met frost vines,
Encompassing a lake
Gorgons’ eyes –
I froze...just looking at it.
Years passed. I read the tale of Gilgamesh,
Convinced he was speaking to me –
mostly. No, I'm certain.
"Paradise always felt lost to us" he’d say
"It’s why, as children, we sought it out each day."
And I knew the Ink Line was the place...
That warrior brought me dreams, warned me about a serpent
Due to appear in between the ripples of the water
And the reflection of the full moon.
It would consume me whole,
Digest me to places where you could only pay boatmen a toll.
All leading to a world of colossus with rifts and dreams
Where nothingness kisses the sedimentary.
I’d wander in,
Wading through rivers, sticks,
My thoughts waning thin.
I'd blame my being ten years young,
How I'd surrendered to naivety
For facing the right way
I guess I thought I’d glimpsed something...
Maybe some "immortality"?
Or maybe the word is too vague to capture.