Purgatory Calling


The essence of the thing stimulated:

Fog; Nothingness; Self,

a vortex of spinning grey.

Time stalled, backtracked, leapt forward,

my eyes uncomprehending

of what other senses detailed.

I dizzied and derailed,

former bluster extinguished;

I was lost.

Purgatory calling, claimed the mist,

and it was, and it did, and it took all of me

even my smile.

20 thoughts on “Purgatory Calling

  1. Born and raised a Catholic, Purgatory was always a sinister half way house, a nebulous parole, a piss stained bus stop with broken windows that always echoed Bob Dylan’s words about No Direction Home

      1. Did you ever hear of Limbo? That was an even greater nightmare in the RC panoply of guilt trips. Then they got rid of it, there one day, gone the next. Such trauma.

      2. This just occurred to me, Richard

        “A tribute to Richard Ankers, whose 50 Word Stories inspire me.

        The old woman’s knees ached from kneeling, her heart from crying. She was waiting for the train to Heaven. She bought the ticket in Hell and expected to be waiting a while in Purgatory. But when they took away Limbo, she gave up. She had nothing to believe in, anymore.”

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