April 10, 2013
-
Dark Lady of the Wood
The wood is purpled with an obdurate fog
Through which a happier light cannot break through
And on this lichened slab of ledge
Where he has paused to rest; she finds him
And wraps him up within her verdant shawl
She croons and cradles him to her moss-scented breast
Wild quince beribboning her ebony hair
His eyes now weighted by her soft slow song
He slips away from his immediate self
Into a feathery world of disencumbered dream
It’s been so long he’s waited for her to emerge
Out of the inky green and interwoven brackens of his mind
A vagabond once lost along slow subtle trails
He is at peace at last; asleep on this pavilion of beyond
Abstract quiescent self; unrecognizable as he
Her lips so soft and faintly tasting now of salt
She breathes a soul-enveloping mist into his mouth
She drugs him; drags him deeper into her embrace
And he submits lost to a simpler more pacific place
Happier now than he has ever been
Dark lady of the wood; soft lady of the moss
Float him insentient to bride-chambered earth
Don’t let him ache; don’t let him hurt
He loves you more than you can ever know
In reaching now for your alluvial grace
But you reject him still; it’s not yet time
Wake him; he still has a few more trails to roam
But soon he’ll lie again within arboreal shrine
And then you’ll kiss eyes shut in brilliant sleep
And fly with him to paradise
Comments (2)
If death would come as this then no one would fear her embrace...
To have the power to recreate a dream like that -- is there a more desirable power to have?
Comments are closed.