PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Ah the elixir went down so sweet and softly.  The panacea slowly flowed gently through his veins. Giving him a warm and pleasant almost blissful feeling.  It was twilight in the ancient city of Panopolis.  The sun sank in an arc of metallic colors, ageless silver and cobalt blue.  Wandering shadows shifted uneasily through the darkened streets below.  They appeared like lost disembodied souls.  Searching, yearning.  The alchemist sat in a crumbling tower overlooking the dirty rooftops of the endless metropolis. Against the wall stood a dusty bookcase.  Upon its sagging shelves sat endless rows of ancient Persian, Byzantine and Greek scrolls.  He had collected these throughout his travels.  His thoughts traveled almost mystically, back to his days when he was young and so full of energy.  But those days were long gone, fleeting like a peaceful summer afternoon.  Ah, back to the panacea.  Zosimos had prepared the concoction himself.  The ingredients were given to him meticulously in a series of dream-like states.  He recorded the information in journals throughout his lifetime.  The substance that made up the philosopher’s stone was revealed through the numerous symbols that appeared in his visions.  But something was still missing in the mixture.  Perhaps an herb?  A metal?  And yet now the transmutation was almost complete.  He felt completely transformed, purified. His appearance fresh and youthful.  It was now impossible to guess the man’s age.  He watched as the glittering lights of Panopolis were slowly extinguished in the cool softness of night.  He gave a heavy sigh.  Soon, soon, he thought.  Soon, his physical body would blossom.  Blossom into a solar light.  The elixir had almost worked!!  His years of study were soon to be successful!!  The time would soon be at hand!!  As his heart rapidly pulsated, he felt exalted.  Jubilant!  Restlessly he paced the room.  Back and forth he stepped.  Soon the dreams would come.  Images, clear and vibrant, alive.  And the colorful visions of symbols.  They always came.  Always.  Before he fell into a trance, he would get a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He quietly opened his journal to the next blank page.  He treated the book with care, almost as if it were a pet.  He sat down in his old rackety chair and tried to fall asleep.  Hours went by, he was still awake.  Finally he drifted off.  Slowly he rested.  The dreams came like storms.  Symbols. Allegories.  Parables.  They were all just given to him.  But why?  From what source?  He awoke in the amber morning light.  Sweat covered his body.  It was already becoming hot in his stone chamber.  He began writing immediately.  What would be the consequences if one detail were to be forgotten.  He shivered at the thought!!  Soon he whispered excitedly, soon!