The High Priestess

The High Priestess

Between towers of glass and steel,
A pale half-moon stains the blue afternoon.
Businessmen slipstream shoppers,
In tailored suits of grey, black and blue,
Organising mid-stride their BlackBerry lives;
Whilst bumper to bumper the traffic snarls,
And square-backed buses squeal and hiss,
Squirting inky clouds of camouflage mist.

Right there, in the grey city square,
Right where pedestrians thoroughfare -
A great black bear, sniffing the air.
Lumbering amongst statue and fountain,
This downtown visitor from the mountain,
Scattering a flock of bar-shouldered pigeons,
Before slowly climbing a stone staircase lined,
With sandstone columns beside and behind.

As strange as it may seem,
The great black bear remained unseen.
Avine scavengers were his screen,
Only I had glimpsed the scene.
Propelled forward by reckless curiosity,
I followed, at first, with hesitancy,
Up the stone staircase lined,
With sandstone pillars beside and behind.

Through a perfectly proportioned entry;
A golden-ratioed gateway with gargoyle sentry,
Lay a passage with painted portrait gentry,
Opening on to a large circular room,
Dome-roofed and warming as a womb,
Tinted computer green by the monitor screens,
Spread out around the central desk,
Bearing "In Libris Libertas" on a crest.

“You are late!” she said, turning her head,
A glimpse of spectacles on her nose low set,
Before dark hair spun in a twist tight bun,
Bobbed and swayed towards a darkened doorway.
With great black bear no-where in sight,
I followed this strangely familiar guide,
Between an ebony pillar on the right,
While the left was coloured ivory white.

Down a long staircase we descended,
Stairs draped in plush purple and red,
Carpet unrolled like a long tongue lolled.
Every seven steps long corridors stretch,
Off into pitch black to the right and left,
Where shelves are stacked from floor to ceiling,
With ancient tombs and volumes revealing,
Long lost empires beneath covers peeling.

Down we descend past row upon row,
Of human history I dutifully follow,
The hypnotizing sway of knee-length grey,
Business skirted hips leading the way,
Ankle-high boots make soft footfalls,
Spectacled silhouette grazing walls.
On her fine cotton blouse an embroidered collar,
Bearing insignia of the professional scholar.

At last we arrive at the staircase end,
A cosy little office-box beckoned.
Floor to roof and wall to wall,
Paper-packed folders towering tall,
The musty aroma of old parchment,
Mixed with rose and peppermint,
Courtesy of my stern faced hostess,
Who bade me sit behind her desk.

As I eased myself upon the chair,
Her crisp tone became much softer.
She excused herself without explanation,
Through a side door left swinging open,
I saw earthen walls on which were drawn,
Tribal paintings and scenes of war,
Cuneiform marks and images pagan,
And the hulking outline of Ursus Major.

Bursting back into the cluttered room,
She fixed upon me a look of doom,
Flashing lightning, thunder and fire,
From two stormy cloud grey eyes.
Quickly shutting door and twisting key,
Locking away all pre-history,
Then she laid a scroll afore me,
Etched with unknown hieroglyphy.

She could sense my distress,
As I perused without success,
And pointed out each word of text,
With a pale pink fingernail next,
For my benefit she did translate,
With precise elocution did firmly state,
These few words to underscore my fate,
“The flame burns out upon this date!”

All of a sudden I heard a roar,
As crashing wildly through the door,
The great black bear completely tore,
Door and hinges clean off the wall;
Splinters embedding in roof and floor,
But that was all I saw;
Springing up, I dodged a paw;
Dashing up the stepped hall.

I turned left from the main staircase,
Hoping to daze him in the word maze,
But the growing thunder of his roar,
Smack of paw and scrape of claw,
Showed black bear was gaining fast,
My paltry lead just couldn't last,
As my shoulder clipped the past,
I fell and tumbled head over arse.

Waking shaking, punching out and raking,
White linen sheets wrapped round my bare skin,
Bound down by the bed of my own making.
I sit up to gather my muddled thoughts,
It was just a silly dream, I boldly snort;
But stuck under my arm - a paper slip,
Complete with due date and barcode strip,
And those words in handwritten script.

“The flame burns out upon this date!”