Spectral Verses, IV, The die my soul has cast
Black scorch marks of dejection
where I burn with pains delight
what my shallow terms have bought me
fills the die my soul has cast.
In the throes of trepidation
I have turned against the light
clutching runes with boney palms
tossing stones that read the past.
I scribe a new adventure
scribbling verses in the dust;
I align the passing planets
influencing natal charts.
Scorpio will be rising
that Saturn’s foot will crush,
the Moon and Mars enjoining,
lovely Venus bares my heart.
Blending the earth tone pigment
as the brush strokes flesh her face
with eyes of eternal softness
and hands of phantom grace.
My white linen shirt the canvas
golden ruffles tress her hair
her temperate presence forming
shyly rising in the air.
My breastbones hardly breathing
I retreat back in the dark
she calls her eyes entreating
with a voice of goodly praise.
I sing to her my love song
with my notes c minor sharp,
embracing empty visions,
strumming stringless harps.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
from a dear friend and trusted (good) pirate. They were written
from my humble perspective of Lord Bryon speaking from the grave.
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