DOWN & OUTER

 

The real down-and-out search of hell's doorways 

begs like a trip through life to borrow strength, 

and devise character, find purpose, chase dreams 

and remake castles of air into bricks and mortar.

 

Real down-and-outers navigate 

the convoluted twist of hell's water slide,

a downward drop through self abuse,

as the homemade inner beast 

competes for a cave and a lake of nothing.

 

Everyone takes the express elevator down,

slumming the usual crossroads 

for a cheap rejuvenation of the animal sense,

all nostrils flaring, fangs bared, breath baited,

electric goose bump tingles under every hair.

 

This is how we take the ultimate body 

for a stroll and end up on the hairy side, back-talking 

the sidewalk troll out of his due, dark with denial, 

not thinking how thought has two natures to reveal,

one that survives at all cost and one that flits and thinks

of everything at once, connected by a cosmic dot matrix.

 

You come back if you can, from the hell of the world,

if you haven't squandered the life force on the slippery levels,

looking for your body's idea of heaven.

Life is tugging at the pull-chains of watery abyss,

at the person you have saved up as a myth.

Black clouds and thunder sweep it all away.

 

Suddenly, there are things to do, habits to quit,

people to reconcile or leave behind.

A chance  to live in the middle world of light and dark,

a realm where inner thought sparks with outer truth.

 

You come back from the worst of hell's ventures

all strung out in a weird state, a stranger to most things,

but resonating with renewed image and symbol,

talking about things no-one ever considered real.

 

You talk expansively, with little or no effort, 

like an oracle of revived hope on earth,

calmly and serenely centered like the moon, 

racing to win hearts, outrunning the wind.

 

©Jimmy Warner Design, 2010