1163. THE RIVER LETHE

THE RIVER LETHE

-(part a.)-

I am riding this bark along

the river of forgetfulness; trying

not to sleep, yet failing at that.

Above me, a lethal form of sky

is hovering low; caves and flowing

water assuage the doubts, as I

duck and timber the flow.

-

My brain this time is purely the

loser. Attempting its own deceit,

so sure of the reality before it, it

pauses at nothing at all - but goes on,

and on, relegating a propensity for

reflection to only the water alone.

And even that reflection is but

the faint glimmer of moving illusion.

-

-(part b.)-

What is it I've carried this far,

and strapped to my back, no less?

What is it drags me through water like

leaden weight, sinking and falling? The

onus of this magnificence? Oh, surely

not that! The plaque-worn, granite-load

of memory carried, ever onward and more?

Perhaps. Singing like sirens, I hear a

feminine sound - voice, songstress, singer.

And, oh though, would it be, she were mine!

-

-(part c.)-

This foul nomenclature; I bury the

name 'neath the waters. Why try the climb

and the flow? I am sinking as I sing. Both

regard each other equally, these words -

past me strange landscapes pass.

I am entering Heaven,

or I am leaving a Hell.