The Forgotten Ones

Ours is the oldest dance
and once more we’ve come
to walk these astral halls
to play ritual games of hide and seek
on the eve of our Beltane.

Ancient lovers run in circles
to behold the virtue of the roles we now play
yet so few remember us these days.

And still I find you there
setting snares for my capture
aghast it took me so long
to remember what you are.

When awake I breathe the toxic fumes
of the dying and former Serpentine
who clouds my vision in the milky white fog
Yet nocturnal slumbers re-unite us
in abysmal reflections of delight.

In spite of the agonies
memories of severe brutality
to which we entreat one another
I would choose to save you
even if just one last time.

Better to put my heart to work
than let it grow cold.
And like the fires of just one
star-gone-Nova
she will tear me down.
For all the savagery and obsession
of my former grey-eyed lover
could never burn half as much
as when my heart overflows,
do I burn myself.

In truth I am told
a love like ours
could raise the deathless ones
and consign me once more
to the bitterness of Oblivion.

Let then, pen to page
be my soma
to path-work my relapse
instead of chemical neuro-stimulators
which only offer death and blindness
to a mind that remembers.

Perhaps my brother was right.

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