Treasure Island

Giorgio A. V.

(Athens, Greece)

Primrose



The clockwork ticks transformed to fog and air
While dusk absorbed the beacon's blinking signs,
- Surreal and indefinite designs
With tangible his steady flash and flare;
Beneath the kind, retentive cloak of chance,
- He breathed her in, her aural scent and glance.

Inside the tavern sea-men ordered drinks;
Amidst the tulips of the hazy smoke,
He felt the night with owls' persistent croak,
And lady Sadness 'pon the starboard brinks;
Invisible the night descended slopes
In quietness with dark, elusive scopes.

Her primrose scent - ambrosian sorrow's gate,
Remote Paradisos and range of soul
Perfumed her whiff surpassed, and burned like coal,
He clenched the glass and drunk the dark brusque straight,
The tumbler shattered - deep inhaled her scent,
- With unrelenting his blood thrash torment.

The night was dense; inside the mists he drew
With red drops dropping from the deep palm cut
A wraith, she vanished while her louvres were shut
The nightfall's emptiness inside him grew
Caressed the heavy door, her splendor stained
The primrose scent inside his mind ingrained.

And she descended - Nymph the fates had graced;
Betimes he breathed the scent of night primrose,
Same carnal prayer and adytum disposed,
Her sacrosanct of pathos' splendor traced;
With flash reflecting in her eyes' domain
The primrose scent dispersed inside the rain.

Submitted: Sunday, September 22, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 23, 2013

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© G.V.,09-07-2013 All rights reserved
(Iambic Pentameter)

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