Poetry

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December, 1976 in Malibu California
While deep in meditation I suddenly found myself pulled into the following experience and then just as suddenly kicked back out. While still in a daze, these are the words that flowed out of me.

THE GIRL IN GREEN

Down through a deep dark tunnel of time I tumble;
Spinning away in space to a distant star;
Past flaming galaxies no longer sensed by our vision;
So long ago that it hurts, and so very far.

There I find myself dressed in a much different fashion,
A strange-looking sword in my hand has a silvery sheen.
There in my arms is a girl of nineteen or twenty;
A girl who wears a shimmering garment of green.

A girl, I say, and yet this is not just a child.
She holds herself with the air of a barbaric queen.
She, too, holds a sword, and it's raised to ward off our attackers.
Fearless she is, and I love her, this woman in green.

Before us a mob is demanding our blood with a vengeance.
Two men in white robes are screaming and leading the way.
All that keeps them from reaching our fragile position
Are the strange-looking swords that serve to keep them at bay.

A moment of pause gives me time to explore my new mem'ries.
It seems we are set upon simply because we are wise.
The planet we live on faces a life-ending danger;
A moon, out of orbit, is plunging from red-tinted skies.

The girl is a scientist (strange, she's so young, is my thinking),
And knows how to battle the evil that threatens our world.
I am her lover, a prince of the family in power;
Brave, but confused by events into which I've been hurled.

The moon is an object of workship by ten million people.
Its fall is a sign that their world has to come to an end.
They say that "believers" will all be transported to heaven
As long as the moon sent to cleanse is allowed to descend.

By stopping the moon we blaspheme and alter God's willing.
At least, that's the story the priesthood is passing along.
My love tells me God gave us brains to survive Nature's strayings.
I believe her, but that doesn't help us in front of this throng.

A stone whistles toward us, my sword throws a crackle of lightning;
A puffball of dust is left floating in tension-charged air.
The crowd roars with rage and a couple of men try to rush us;
More lightning, two bodies are blackened. My heart's in despair.

For all of my life (this life, the one on this planet)
I'd been taught that to take a man's life was a heinous sin.
But now, for the sake of this woman, my green-clad beloved,
I'll fight, and I'll kill, and I'll slaughter to save her sweet skin.

Four hours have passed, our lightning is less than a sparkle.
Around us dead bodies are piled up high like a hill.
Then, suddenly, all of the warring is finally over.
The screams and the cries have now ended; the voices are still.

Above us the moon is so big you can see every crater.
All eyes are upon it, all thoughts ... who can say where they are?
The end of our cycle is nearing its tragic fulfillment.
In moments our planet, our people, will burn like a star.

I throw down my sword and turn to the girl I've defended.
Her eyes, filled with tears, tear my heart as I hold her so near.
I shout out a curse to the God who both makes and destroys us.
But she, with a smile, whispers softly, "My love, have no fear."

"This life may be over, but I know that there'll be another.,
Some place, some time, when we'll be together again.
So kiss me before we're consumed by the earth-rending fire,
And think of the joy and the love we two will have then."

What happened? I know not and nor do I care to remember.
Just then I was pulled back from all I had done and had seen.
Back here, to the present, where I am now writing this story.
Back here, with an ache and desire for the girl dressed in green.


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Copyright 2002 by Serge King
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