The Vampires of Castiona

Another deep sleep in the trenches of the valley of wonders.
While inside you told me you can see all those hands reaching for someone.
Your mask crystallizes changing from transparency to sink in every idle moment.

 

The skin you inhabit, a soft milky snow where orchids grow.
So many endless days spent in your bed anticipating tomorrow.

She, the sleeping angel, this wreath of thorns adorns your growing hair.

 

Eyes impose over closed eyelids,

Looking out the open bedroom window with thin curtains;

An invisible construct of the mind which followed you from inside?

 

Sometimes you want to look out just to remember you're alive.
The same pillows and blankets that comforted you in childhood.

Jessica, time stopped too early and now you lay waiting.

 

Sleeping angel,
When you awake,

I will write your tome.

 

Time is growing old and new, folding into itself unfolding out of itself,
And soon there isn't any way to differentiate when it began;
Or how it reaches simple conclusion.
But I'm told it goes on like that forever.

 

Who knew within symetrical lines, binding geometry's puzzles;
Host spheres like burgeoning atoms from other territories?

The chances one could be benevolent.

View misterioso's Full Portfolio
Starward's picture

Not sure I understand the

Not sure I understand the entire poem, but I can certainly state, without doubt, that the sixth stanza is one of the most powerful meditations on Time that I have ever encountered.  It reminds me, in miniature, of certain passages in T S Eliot's great series, Four Quartets.


Starward