Nepenthe
Written: February 14, 2025 for Contest by Edward Ibeh
“Quote: Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!
Edgar Allan Poe”
*******************
In the tranquil oblivion of
savoring the lotus,
I uncover a sanctuary
amidst the waves.
Naive dreams yield to the soothing nepenthe of
night’s embrace.
The oar plunges deep
into the shadowy sea,
Soaking up the soporific nectar of
the nepenthe.
A fleeting wanderer yearns
to escape the asphodel blooms,
Glistening with the dew of nepenthe.
An echoing void ebbs as vessels navigate,
Encased in the whispers of the wind.
A silken stillness envelops us,
Our thoughts unfolding gently.
Misty mountains murmur
with concealed mysteries,
While Saturn’s shadowy sanctuary
sings of love unrequited.
Oh, bounteous bloom of
the Incense tree,
Flaming with brilliance,
Your ruby aromas ascend
into the ether,
As earthly existence transforms
into a mesmerizing Eden!
Strands of hay and
pointed hedges drift softly,
As dreams glide along ancient wains,
touched by ambrosia.
A single drop of nepenthe
to soothe my heart's aching despair,
Honored by hierodules
in fragrant myrtle bowers.
A sacrifice of oxen,
Aphrodite calls from distant waters,
In a sacred hecatomb beckoning my soul.
Dragged through winding paths,
a mournful plea echoes,
plowing through low meadows.
Vivid images draw near,
vibrant and enticing.
Wailing shepherds lament
the days lost to joylessness.
Cawing rooks roam the icy stacks
beneath the starry moonlight,
Half-buried in her fiery heart.
In this resplendent tree,
she weaves her nest.
When the moment demanded it,
the Phoenix shone with countless suns,
Only to crumble, eventually, into ancient dust.
The hapless hare wanders,
its thoughts taking flight.
Thawed, bleating sheep traverse
the cold byres under the night sky.
Luxuriant crocus brightens
the dark warren mossy floors.
Emerald-clad dreams seize
the very essence of woodland folklore.
Gilded argosies press
against towering, steep barriers.
I seethe at my heart's constriction
as house-dogs tremble and shadows lie still.
Her breathtaking deathbed, her opulent pyre,
Aromatic flames consumed all that mattered.
Her urn, a monument looming
over the men who sought to spoil.
A birthplace reborn in flames.
The boundless, lush wilds resonate with life.
This is where her song echoes,
full and profound.
With amber tears and fragrant sighs,
She is mourned by the desert
that cradled her demise.
Copyright © Sotto Poet | Year Posted 2025
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