‘The Ecstatic Ones’ by Andrew Bradford

The lake is ever draining, suppose one day it will merely be sand

With just a motion of her finger, she ushers him nearer

That night we found the truest form of explosive manna to be inside the soul

In dread we all enter, but in pain we shall all exit our own stage

Be it left or right, our happiness will never match the exquisite torture we all endured

I know I have traded on my feigned wisdom, taught others with the stigmata of my words

Will they make a saint of her? This is what I wondered as I stood at the top of the eternal

I’ve gotten so turned around, backtracked so often, been flat of my ass a million times

But for this moment I will only feel, I will only let the sounds teach me what I hunger to learn

By chance she had disappeared a few times into astral flights none can see but the sightless

I will not cry–She will not relent

I have learned to hold back the tears–She wipes my cheeks

Now I will stand and shout–She lifts my voice

I will scream with joy–We shout with delight

Until I am consumed by the void–We will be forever in the vortex

And return as light in a world growing dark–Pulsing light

She does hold me aloft–She does become my every molecule

First real panic of the day—-

In evening all

will be calm

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