Visitor on the Solstice

On a stormy Autumn’s ending as I nosed through tomes pretending
That the ceaseless crackling towards me no ill will bore;
Suddenly there was a bursting as of heaven and hell thirsting –
Thirsting for the spirit dwelling in the skin I wore.
Eerily the thunders’ bleating brought to mind a sinner’s pleading
For respite from demon’s beatings in those pits I’ve dreamt afore.
“You will not have me;” I wept meekly, “For my sins are not completely
Damning, no, I will not cross that devil’s door.
I shall seek my own exemption; I will have divine redemption;
For no fiend can hold preemption on the soul within my core!”

Promise of Spring

It was near the cusp of Spring, yet Spring never arrived
As Winter’s pallid hands choked firmly ‘round the Sun,
The Moon and all the unfathomable creatures, cursed,
Forever formless, dwelling far beyond the withering stars.
Dull were the skies, lacking clouds or the joy of birds,
As were barren fields famished for any sign of growth,
And the seas grew restless, swallowing the pride
Of Man in greedy gulps, dragging souls and stonework
Down, down to lay forever with listless ships and
Unknown leviathans chained in lightless prisons.

Man grew restless with the stretching gloom,
As eternal Winter stirred misery in the hearts of all;
Who sought an end to this unnatural nature,
Who sought to right the course of this steady cycle-
Birth and death, renewal and desolation, all too vast,
Too universal for Man to see the necessity of this Winter-
And so they fought, as Man always has, fought against nature,
Fought to hang on as the light died, as the Sun snuffed itself out,
As the mighty oaks hollowed and fell, as seeds lay dormant,
Eternally locked in their shells, never to see the coming Spring –
And atrophy was the nature of all that still dwelled.

So the world fell to darkness, pierced only by flickering lights,
The faint torch of Man, powered by the rot of reptilian eons –
And dim were the cities, where crowds thronged and writhed,
Setting upon the world as starving wolves on sheepless folds;
Here was Man, formless mounds of gaunt mouths gnawing,
Tearing, gnashing at all that yet lived, consuming ferocious beasts
And docile creatures of all breeds – lank meat chewed by lank jaws.
Soon the lights of Man stuttered, then failed- inviting the dark
And chill of Winter back into the hearts of furtive survivors.

Man still fought against the darkness- setting alight their greatest works:
Libraries, the treasury of all man’s knowledge and worth;
The hubs of learning and culture; monuments to great men,
And palaces of long-dead kings; all were kindling, all were sacrificed
For a glimpse of warmth and light in a world with neither.

As the last flame settled from ember to ash, a song was heard
From beyond the stars- not the blast of trumpets heralding Horsemen,
But weirdly wistful wailing; angelic yet distorted, the death-knell of the cosmos,
Carrying creatures that laid dreaming before the stars coalesced,
And for them it was Spring; a Spring unlit by the ray of any stagnant Sun.

In The Grim, Dim Evening

The gardens gleam with roses, the sun is setting soon
By the statues in their poses, I’ll await you ‘neath the moon.
The shining stars will totter, as the wind wafts from the bay,
With scent of wine and water; Oh, where have you gone to-day?

Spy the marble busts around me, grinning suitors in their prime
“Oh, accept this ring and love me!” she can hear the wedding chime.
Sculpted hearts swiftly beating, he approaches, holds her tight
The statues’ lips are meeting, two more lovers in the night.

For countless golden ages have the seraphs stood unaltered,
In warmth and windy rages, neither angel failed nor faltered
Oh, but we who are as permanent as an urn of unbaked clay
Should fear to face the firmament; where have you gone to-day?

The Temple’s chimes are stinging, for the marriage month has passed,
I hear the choir’s singing, and the drummer’s mournful blast;
And when song gives way to longing, and the drumming skips a beat,
The wretched warbled wronging of a passing raven’s tweet.

Little joy I have to gain, and less yet left to lose,
My hope a wretched blain; it seems I must refuse
To outlast the lamenting hour in the stretching evening gloom
While the lilies are in flower and my misery abloom.

And as Death strummed his meter, and away my spirit flew
What sadness could be sweeter than the joy I shared with you?
For to-day, absent bliss, only suffering and sorrow,
I will face, in the abyss, no new mourning on the morrow.

(Inspired by “In the Early, Pearly Morning”)