In the Minds Fixed Eye
VIII
In the minds fixed eye I see five newly discovered graves,
Headless lions sat atop an impregnable "Triumphal Gate";
And guileful Cassandra, she laid her two murdered infant babes
Into that cold, unforgiving earth, who patiently awaits
In Elysium for the making, as of yet, of an
Unfulfilled prophecy.
Did she not urgently press upon him not to go
To violent Sparta?
Her who had seen the consequences for
An un-readied Troy...
But, perhaps that which is foretold does not
always have to be?
Licentious Apollo, frustrated when attempting
To barter
For her innocence...although, what finer sport
should a God enjoy?
Beautifully crafted daggers with fabulous inlaid stones.
Decorated swords the likes which Hector gave to the lesser.
Extraordinary figurines all found surrounded old broken bones...
A forgotten, heroic world swept away to be lost forever.
Three bronze-clad warriors slow turned to
Naught but dust;
Apart one face, behind a golden mask, that,
Somehow, defied decay --
Behold! behind this frightful mask --
The face of Agamemnon!!
Murdered by a vengeful woman for a selfsame
Base lust;
Solemn vows and pledges of chastity betrayed
When led astray.
An ill-timed death this: he whom all Mycenae
Came to depend on.
It is as though my dulled heart is filled with a leaden
Balloon; and weighted upon my weary shoulders the total sins
Of my warlike race. Ahhh...draining the shallow Kylix deadens
The senses...but despairs court such dangerous whims.
How I yearn for ancient Arcadia, those
Folded hills
Where the Mousai whispered secrets into the
Swooning breeze;
Often I would wander through all of this
Pastoral splendour,
Accompanied by soothing chimes from lulling,
Silvery rills,
For here I had rediscovered lost Utopia in
Ever increasing degrees:-
Treasured moments of glad grace I hold
Dearest and most tender;
If I am but to close my heavy and despondent lids, again
I might hear gurgling splashes tripping over green bedrock:-
Harmonious tinkling spawning enchanting, hypnotic constrains --
Enabled by stepped stone speeding beads of bubbling froth.
Now I only know my own trickling rivulets of
Bitter, salted tears;
They fall, like heavy droplets, into that deep,
Resounding well
Of awful hollowness; and often being forced,
Against my will, to ponder
On all what has passed before. That perfect
Face that reappears,
Uninvited, when least expected. Other images
Which so compel
Unto a soul to yearn for all that was...
And is no longer.
I envision strange and wonderfully bright lights alongside
The Aegean's vibrant shores; inland, a walled citadel
Sat high above a wide plain...come the sunset, beautified
When stretched out by lengthening shadows; the acrid smell
From sulphurous torches. With fondness,
Recalling Chiffchaffs
Piping their song from fluffed up Willows.
In Olive groves
We sought welcomed respite from fierce Helios;
A kings jealousy
Compelled upon him to illuminate a Goddess's
All too familiar distaff.
Those narrow, pebble-strewn, thickly dusted,
Near-impassable roads
Lying there undisturbed still....where
Winding down to the glittering sea.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2019
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