A Prose Poem
The red light becomes more intense sometimes for a couple of minutes. When that happens I feel a kind of pain. I try to shut my eyes then realise they are shut already.
There is no doubt of the beauty and power of this place. I can see I might come to love it here. The whole scene in front of me vibrates gently, everything slightly shimmers to a regular beat. Occasionally there’s a deeper red ribbon that flips into view. Looks almost like a bridge. No that can’t be right. There are no bridges here, no recognisable structures. Just shades of red moving before my closed eyes.
There is sound here, a distant drumming and a sort of burbling. There are some deeper noises too, dark bass notes throb to a longer, slower beat. At first I thought they were random but I have been here long enough to start to hear the pattern.
How long have I been here? Days? Weeks? I struggle to remember what those words once meant. Time does not exist here. It seems that all there is now, all there ever has been, all there will ever be, is the red and the gentle drumming.
I move, twisting and turning, pushing against the red that surrounds me. Was it always so cramped here? Surely once there was space to move, to swim in a vast red ocean? Wasn’t I a mermaid, swimming and diving for the sheer joy of the movement?
Now though I feel constrained, the sounds louder, the red closing in on me. Now it feels hot, my skin burns and itches. I’m gasping for words that are vanishing before I can catch them. My words are rushing away from me, all that is going now. Soon there will be nothing left but the, oh what? What is it called? that colour that is all round me? Nothing left but that and and the pounding, pounding, pounding.