It is a Stygian Thing

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

Stygian: Adj; of or relating to the river Styx. Mysterious, dark.

It is a stygian thing

 

 

Life is adorned with many a tragedy


especially regarding the mortal groan

 

of immoral idiosyncrasy

 

 

But underneath the farthest reaches

of celestial beauty

among the Speckles of Radiance

that claim the heavens

 

And above the relegated caverns

of abysmal Disbelief

that reside upon

 the Deepest

and most intimate Sorrow of human feeling

There be a Remedy

 

Hope is a thing unknown to some

Hope is replete for others

Hope may bring the joy and relief of sadness

or the gloom of tentative euphoria

 

It is a stygian thing

a darksome patch of unfathomable dimension

that glides with ghoulish grace

and stops for No One

 

It bears a long mane

laden with silk

that flows along the hands of those

Seeking for the tangible lucidity of reassurance for things unintelligible

 with the Reality for which they live

 

 

It gallops across the sands of time

with a dance that entices all that may dare prance

among the pool of remuneration

to escape

from the depths of frustration

 

The tune of Hooves

of swift agility

travels far and broad

among the peasantry and the desperate

and amongst the wealthy and the prosperous

But in all the places it may grunt and trot

the demand is the same

 

The desire for the thing

that furnishes the fabric of sanity

is greater than the will

for true sanity itself

 

The Stallion of which one calls for help

gives a Free gift

for It lives for this involuntary gift

that it was destined for giving

and breathes the air of the sky

despite its grounding living

 

It Whinnies the echoes

of the dreams it may have fulfilled

or the disillusioned thoughts

of the Naïve and Unstilled

 

But in temporal retrospect

 of the existential moment

of its summoning

the Horse may give its gift freely

 but it comes with a Price

 

Hope is a beautiful thing

An iridescent Dark like the edge of the Night

 

But its falsity

and its use that is hacky

 even by the degree of the smallest dewdrop on a morning leaf

or the infinitesimal time in a blink

will spur the cycle of deception

of one’s own mental conception

of what he truly receives

from what gallops over the trees

and beats the tune of a Life worth living

 

Hope is a thing unknown to some

Hope is replete for others

Hope may bring the joy and relief of sadness

or the gloom of tentative euphoria

 

It is a stygian thing

a darksome patch of unfathomable dimension

that glides with ghoulish grace

And stops for No One


Submitted: May 29, 2021

© Copyright 2021 LukeJames. All rights reserved.

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