Oberon

Unborn leaves dance to sounds
of a bell’s hymnals, echoing
through May Day’s eve.
Amongst the light-rilled mist
and through the golden pavement,
upon a shore of stained glass
sat the shadow of a man,
whose life lay blessings from before.

How many prayers have fallen from his weary lips?
Crying out the names of his lovers and beloveds?
Racing dreams through his fields of melancholy?
Giving to sweet temptations upon loveless flowers?
Laughing at innocence, with warm hands, warm hearts,
while saving himself for winter’s sharp embrace?

And yet there he sits, the Courts moving without
him, never knowing the foolishness entwined in
his heartbeat.

He loves himself.
He hates himself.

But all the same, he continues to die,
never knowing the despair of his lies.

 

~Featured in the Wildsound Writing and Film Festival Review, Best of poetry, January 2017.

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