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POTW 15 July 2018
Reverberations of the burbling stream ahead evokes
anticipations of fantasies and distorted expectations
Perfect porcelain skin ~ russet curls ~ ruby red lips
Surely even the gods would weep
at this manifested apotheosis of angelic perfections?
Trudging the lonely winding path once more
oblivious to the brambles tearing at his limbs
a small sacrifice ~ the blood he sheds matters not
Time’s swift flight may alleviate the aching heart
that suffers the pangs of an unrequited love
Etched in his mind this image that has fragmented
the filigree web of his repetitious dreams
Where his nightmarish inflictions are wrought
of an agonising sweat soaking torment
in the gloom of the nights that liberate him not
Proclamations of love feverishly spilling
On parchment in the wakening dawn
Bled out in words to where beckoning waters flow
Euphonious notes that the winds have borne
Streaming from the very core of his being
Spinning senses abandoning their out of control defences
Yet nothing … Nothing ... in his wretchedness can bridge
the gap to the void in his desolate soul
Deprived by a selfish god of this splendor
for him to gaze on by day ~ yet in dismal nights Heaven denies
Day after day to this enigma he brings
serenades that would whip fallen leaves into a frenzy
and calm raging torrents into lapping stillness
Mindless he to the lone song bird that flutes soulfully
Or the reiterated sounds of the whispering Echo
He weeps and grins like a madman at
the sudden outburst of mirth on those ruby lips
Fingers dip in to caress once again
Collapsing the perfection into
a thousand shimmering, mocking ripples.
Must he drown in his very own tears?
Surrender to his darkest dreams?
A slave to an intoxication of his own making
On the morrow perchance the gods may be kinder
A whisper carried on a teasing wind floats to his ears
Above throughout the high mountains,
He can hear Echo whispering softly
Her mellifluous dirge of death.
Yet he cares not ~ His mind centres
on the god that so oft appears in the stream.
Lust eats at his heart as he feels the urge
to plunge down into the depths of the viridian stream,
To copulate in bliss with his newly found love.
Yet something holds him back.
Curse Nemesis for depriving him from his ambrosial love.
Weak in dreamy languor, he falls faint,
And dies ………Unable to kiss his shadow in the stream.
In Greek mythology, Narcissus was a hunter from Thespiae in Boeotia, known for his beauty. The son of the river god Cephissus and nymph Liriope, he was so self-opinionated, disdaining those who loved him. Nemesis disliked his behaviour and lured Narcissus to a pool where he saw an image of beauty reflected in the water. He instantly fell in love with it not realising it was the reflection of himself. Unable to tangibly connect with this epitome of beauty, Narcissus lost his will to live. He stared at his reflection by day and was distraught at nightfall when he could not see it.
Echo, the woodland nymph, with her ceaseless chattering, perhaps in an effort to conceal, angered the goddess queen Terra when she demanded to know the whereabouts of her husband Zeus who was cavorting with the woodland nymphs at the time. Terra punished her with a curse that only allowed her to speak the last words she heard. Perchance, while haplessly wandering in the woods, Echo saw and secretly fell desperately in love with Narcissus who sadly wasn’t aware of her, in spite of Echo cleverly repeating his last words in order to attract his attention.
POTW 15 July 2018
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