Triad

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


Early poems

Submitted: May 24, 2018

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Submitted: May 24, 2018

A A A

A A A


TRIAD

 

By Alexander Guinevere Kern

 

Copyright, A. G. Kern, 1985

 

 

Inside my narcoleptic lids

Your image is etched, and

I do not want to awaken and

Leave your eiderdown cave.

Outside, the Eternal Ritual Begins.

 

I wish I could reign in Aurora,

Gauze-gowned flower girl

Approaches, casting Light petals.

Her black patent leathers clack.

Bolts of rainbow ribbons

Unfurl, fan-like, behind her.

 

The moon winces, a taut

Hieroglyph of augustine scar.

She has been betrayed, Pitted

Rock, still and hopelessly barren.

Rejected, no man will marry her.

 

Drifting in her cerements,

Half unbound, a sad striptease.

Pulsing ridges chart the days

‘Til her hollow womb begins again

 

Its dark weeping. I mourn

The passing of the moon.

A bas-relief of Betrayal

I might finger and feel guilt.

I do not want to leave you.

 

Quetzcoatl’s Bride arises regally.

Posing lambent plumes behind her.

Attendant skies bear up and up

Her cumbersome train of lights.

 

She’s dazzling in her wedding gown

Sewn nits of yellow brilliants

Blind my eyes. My offending eyes.

Winking brazenly, cheeks aflame,

The Sun ascends the temple stairs,

Her Hellish visage lifted to the altar.

Where Dame Day waits.

 

Views of asterisms escape her face.

The sky is numb with shame.

It has witnessed this charade far too often.

The moon mists over.

Aurora collapses. Foreshadow dance complete.

And the Bride, beaming,

Steps unconcerned over

Their inert bodies.

 

Obvious to my objections.

She convenants with Day.

Promising faithfully, I do! I do!

Forever and for always!

How blithely she lies.

 

She is an adulterous slut of a Sun.

I curse her, rise and dress.

I must hasten home, the scarred hearth,

Lares and Penates, choking with morning’s ash.

Flickering reproach, reproach.

 

I said, I promise, Love, I’ll

Kneel to you this evening.

When the black robes of the

Night priests enfold the Bride,

Their grimy hands will fervently

Undress her. They will sever

Her vows and eat them raw.

Off she’ll flee, naked and exposed,

A tarnished golden ring.

 

To her other marriage

On the other side of the Earth.

Breathless and apologetic.

I’ll be back, Dearest One, I promise.

I squint in the glare of the Sun.

We all lead cleft existences.

 

And dagger me, dagger me,

Love me up and setting, 

Son of the Sun,

Man, white like Moonlight,

Sorcerer, Priest, Wiseman, Cheater,

I never imagined you.

 


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