Treasure Island

Dilantha Gunawardana


Maiden Of Death


Sweeping into the soul
Is the chilling winter wind
Taming all fires within
As the cradle of mirth
Rocks to the bare-boned knuckles
Of a sinister sorceress
The maiden of death

Oh you naive soul
Oh you fetus of a being
Hunting the temple of love
Like a myopic pilgrim
Chasing a duplicitous mirage
Of an anthropogenic shrine

And in the absence of love
The soul stares at a sable screen
Like the midnight sky
In the absence of the moon
Deracinated of hope
Like a bird clipped of her wings
With no flutter or color
To call her very own

For love is the ambrosia
To the insatiable soul of man
And in her vacancy
Man relinquishes his soul
To insentience of a melancholic winter
When the frosty winds make merry
While the flames profoundly slumber

As the maiden of death
Softly whispers a soothing lullaby
Gently rocking to and fro
To the tranquility of her dulcet tongue
As you journey to where it all began
To the gentle undulations
Of the amniotic fluid
Relinquishing to her serenity

Calming waters
As all entropy dissolves
To a paradisaical inertia
As Valkyries hover like vultures
To scavenge your soul
For a seraphic journey
To the vestibules of Valhalla

For death is no noose
Only an analgesic garland
At the gates of Valhalla

Submitted: Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 24, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Suicide

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