Necromanteion Poem by Patrick Frazier

In a chamber of prophetic men
Dressed in black
One after the other
Dead on their backs
Staring at silver coins

Corpses listen for whispers
Of things forgotten at birth
The lingering lines of their covenants
As gods made oaths on the Styx

Charon enchants to himself
Reforming our muddled perceptions
His winged demons
May be given an eidos
For rowing toward resurrection

Or we become flooded with images
Dissecting our brains with a knife
The soul bursts out our mouths
And we sink in the marsh of the Afterlife

The gravediggers here
Work up instead of down
But it could take ages to know
Where your bloated corpse is found

A pilgrim reached the ruin
Under a baptist's hill
A holy man prepared his fate
Placing bloody remains of dead gods
At three Iron Gates

Approaching the oracles of death
A labyrinth to the center
Vertigo increases in waves
In what moratorium the saved?

The holy man melds his face to a liquid mirror
A torch lights up in the chamber
A torch from within and without
A torch lights up in the chamber
Somewhere in God
That is quickly snuffed out

Mysteries unfold in minds awake
The pilgrim is dressed in black
He wades through a marble pool
Then is laid flat on his back

The prophetic men staring at Janus
Guarding the doorway
Where the anima is hoary
Receive a second death

Their minds disconnect
Images rush through twitching eyes
They synergize a new aeon
Flourishing from a goddess's fingertips.