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ÅRSGÅNG II: BÄCKAHÄSTEN
Here, in this ebony-cloaked and haunted place
Juxtaposed by the white noise of crickets reverberant
I am drawn to the path that fireflies would show
Some ethereality shewn through their cinder glow
I have yearned for this, night’s orchestral melancholy
In woods that were dampened by the coming of April
The white painting of death, melting into rivers of lethe
Where I could forget painful yesterdays, frost-laden still
And loathsome was the pyre, resonating with ire
Betrothed only by the sullen blackness surrounding
Its heat tangible in a dim radius, beckoning
All manner of warm-blooded creature, stifling
To fade into this tender care
To hearken for the ember’s glare
Now smoldering with the coming of morn
And in the throes of sleep, the noise departs
Only the snapping of twigs a comforting norm
As, brought to light, my sojourn would start
That truth
In a downpour, disdainful reverie
Followed by a great darkening of freedom
Where free was I, in the enfolding wings of life
But alone
This is where I choose to tread
To the brook where I was bereaved
When pale clouds would show no silver
Through blanketing vines I would cleave
Crystalline erosion would bite the fingers
In acrimony, the spite is thicker
Cursing old and forgotten names
And only the dead can see through the grain
At last...
Scarred across opal waters is my reflection
As I scry the black water, in eidolic reprieve
Like an amber nectar from the trees
Or a crimson ichor from leather, freed
And vast was my greed
What delusion might be plaguing me?
Distant screams like whispering daggers
Etched into my despair, bitter revulsion
At the illuminating clarity
I damn these woods for paths misled!
For those that died, but never left!
Tormenting me in the shard-like grey!
Wherein halls of sleep, I could not stay!
Yet, sudden and prying
Bereft I, of solitude
The brook, now slithering, alive
My thoughts, can I not trust?
It bears a spot for me
Assuring me
Of this curse, I could be freed
There, by the marsh preach the bittern
Wherein beckoning eyes, in gloom came hither
I am inconsolable, without friend nor foe
Awaiting my destiny, to the Neck my soul
Published 17th Oct 2016
| Edited 18th Jul 2018
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