Friday, January 27, 2023

Boat To Nevermore

Boat To Nevermore
© Surazeus
2023 01 27

The sparkling snow of ancient centuries 
veils vine-entangled tombs of long-dead kings 
but still their widows tend to honey bees 
and kneel to weep when the mute idol sings 
about the horseman with the blood-stained sword 
who guards temple of his pregnant wife Njord. 

Soft voice-call of their children in cold wind 
pretends to open broken door of light 
when they refuse to gather in the church 
where demons hide in words of ancient books 
for fools who wander maze of Holy City 
prefer to enter gate to Purgatory. 

Because we float on the infinite sea, 
lost in deliberation of the truth, 
we would compare weird silence of each voice 
to ships wrecked on the shores of nameless worlds 
yet no one ever prays to God of Rain 
except to ask for apples in the wain. 

Across interminable space of desire 
we follow bland eternity of faith 
to find the angry boy in hall of fire 
whose lamplight never reveals the mind wraith 
who breathes sweet scent of flowers without hope 
for subtle proverbs that would help us cope. 

I dream strange revelation in the dark 
at haunting sorrow of the morning lark 
about abstraction of our lost friendship 
symbolized by the bruised rose on the ground 
at second coming of the wizened crone 
who never calls us on the telephone. 

The dead who never return to our world 
still linger as nameless ghosts in our minds 
so though we sit alone in silent rooms 
they crowd around us in shadows of words 
we never speak as rain streams on the glass 
that cannot shield our hearts from pain of truth. 

If I return to mill on the River Floss 
I hope to meet young Maggie Tulliver 
who wears green overcoat and old black shoes 
before she boards the boat to Nevermore, 
but no one answers my heart-aching call 
so I stare at dead orange leaves as they fall. 

Because no Heaven shines above blind clouds 
we savor glow of sunlight after rain 
while lounging in the meadow with milk cows 
to ponder how our last kiss can ease pain 
yet Njord breast-feeds her baby by the lake 
as moonlight gleams blue on scales of the snake. 
 

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