Breathless I flee, these dark parades
Bear down; a black whisper taunting,
Flung out, scoured, perjured and tackless,
By petty tyrants that gloat in
Burnished pewter thrones, preen and glut,
On sycophantic prophecy.
Onward, this legion of one, unheard,
‘Midst this cacophanous silence,
I flit all crazed, a broke-wing bird,
Maddened by vanished dreams of flight,
By that bright, cupreous kingdom,
Subsumed into dark avenues.
This while, twisted Jovian shades,
Plutocrats and charlatans plot,
Devise my demise, turn the locks
Of leaden, grey-towered kingdoms,
Cloud clogged, pondere non numero,
And decry this dream of Eris.
May that Discordia, have compassion,
Wind the clocks beyond pure ration—
Mending the wing with Saturn’s ring
for concert’s timely inspiration.
Did you write this? It’s beautiful. I love poetry that has words that I don’t understand, it makes me want to know the meaning of them, so I go find it. 🙂
Deirdre, you know I am not kidding when I tell you that you’re right up there in my top 5 most fantastic people, how you manage it is beyond me, but I’m glad to know you.
Kel, thank you, I haven’t heard from you for a while, hope all is good too with you and yours.
My pineal gland says…
All hail Eris Kallisti Discordia! Her apple corps is strong.
This poem is quite lovely. I’m a sucker for the use of the word “Jovian”. 🙂