01 October 2015
I will not rip open my pulsing breast
and expose my heart to your hungry need
to drink tragedy of failure and loss,
for I am not that savior of your soul
you pray for in your disgust and despair
who promised to lead lost children of hope
through waste land of horror at bleeding death
to retake paradise from angry God.
I lock myself hidden in tower of stone
I built from bones and skulls of ancient gods
far outside high walls of your paradise
and gaze in crystal sphere of shining light
to search for secrets of our universe,
then armor my heart inside polished tales
to keep it from cracking for ache of love
when he went to fight and never returned.
This pristine paradise of fairy land,
where bees buzzed around apple trees and flowers,
and wild birds fluttered along sparkling streams,
vanished long ago when bulldozers came
and erected banks and apartment halls
on ruins of my castle, and paved black
pathways through my gardens of worts and herbs
where hissing snakes changed to telephone poles.
You will never find me now, hordes of men
with flashing cameras who stalk my footsteps
and publish private photos of my life
in tabloids for people working dull jobs
to feast at communion on my ripe flesh
and drink divine blood of my mortal soul
that drips in rain to soak asphalt-paved streets,
for ten thousand cars drive over my skull.
Though I hear you call to me, "Sylvia!"
I am nothing more than shadow of hope
in sylvan amusement park where wild bards
are worshipped as bright cartoon characters,
although bristle-bearded Saturnian Faunus,
who wears cheap plastic Halloween clown mask,
dances wild around fire in tangled woods
and you see face of Silvius flash in dreams.
Leaping from shadow of ancient dark woods,
Silvius leads his little son Brutus by hand,
teaching him names of animals and plants,
then they leap on stag that bounds over hills
to mountain top where they stand in bright beams
of sunlight that stream through clouds after rain,
and eat ripe apples while Diana sings
and generates new bodies for old souls.
Eat this red apple for it is my heart,
and sweet juice of love, brewed by rain and sun,
soaks sponge of my mind with aching desire
to hold you in my arms by Nemi Lake
and kiss by moonlight to create new life,
for our bodies writhe with passionate urge
when we dance among oak trees at sunset,
though all these are memories lost in my dreams.
I feel them all alive now in my mind,
every ancestor who once lived in flesh,
stimulated by blood coursing their minds,
for all their memories of hope and lust
seethe blazing from every cell of my brain,
and I now replay their lives on lit stage
of television dream so you can watch
tragic comedy of all who loved and died.