Treasure Island

Ross Mackay


Marion In The Catacombs


Orpheaus and the soul sucking stone,
never to see Eurydice,
River Styx, to cross, one penny-
Disparity in the Hebridies.

In odes she speaks of virtue,
behind the midnight curfew
eyes that spurn the awful sight
metropolis and city lights.
Catching trains at midnight hours
the mind's a tomb,
nothing to fix,
step step, nothing, step step,
On the rocks the murmer of the ghosts
no music can seduce, no sound of lyres,
then we surface
catching feathers with our hands,
ode to joy and all that land.
Flaming autumn leaves,
sunrise over the glades
and stepping over snakepits-
time and no essence.
Riddling to the muses,
joy around your fainting hair,
Athena strikes her wit
so Paris lays down his spear.
Such as time in olive trees,
wars which delt a Roman breeze
would it buy an only son
is your jealousy appeased?

Submitted: Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, June 26, 2013
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