Dust and Dreams-A Journey
A Preface to Death in the Sea (The Prologue of Netherblide) (Loss)
A Preface to Death in the Sea
(The Prologue of Netherblide)
For the many years of wait, had I,
Become the ever after lady martyr,
For the many tears of strife, had I,
Merely waltzed along thy path, a forgotten daughter,
Had I merely wished of roses and wine,
Think I, I may have been true,
To the knowledge of life's lonely truce,
Accepting thy lifework of jester's fool,
I know not what the scholars call,
My ancient, heavy laden malady,
I only know, in thy lady's mind,
Of lone heart; how it bleeds incessantly!
All thy yesterdays, thyst cling to, dear,
As I crusheth thy vine of color,
Simply serve to remind thy heart,
That she is sad, not finely stellar,
For thy way of youth, thy blushing path,
Thy precious path of hope, aglimmer,
Never did I dare to tread upon,
Thy empty road of lifelong sinner,
Hath thy tongues of fiery rage,
Shall scorch thy pretty, painted faces,
Of souls in grief, awakening,
Grasping no semblance, of hiding places,
Do not I hear thy cry of birds?
Singing death hymns beneath thy window?
Yet, do not they fall from lofty sky,
With thy dying song, barren, dismal?
There sit on haunches, prowling wolves,
They of knowing, blazing eyes,
They watch, silent, in trenches deep,
Awaiting thy mere living, as we die…..
2002
Cristine M. DiMario
(The Prologue of Netherblide)
For the many years of wait, had I,
Become the ever after lady martyr,
For the many tears of strife, had I,
Merely waltzed along thy path, a forgotten daughter,
Had I merely wished of roses and wine,
Think I, I may have been true,
To the knowledge of life's lonely truce,
Accepting thy lifework of jester's fool,
I know not what the scholars call,
My ancient, heavy laden malady,
I only know, in thy lady's mind,
Of lone heart; how it bleeds incessantly!
All thy yesterdays, thyst cling to, dear,
As I crusheth thy vine of color,
Simply serve to remind thy heart,
That she is sad, not finely stellar,
For thy way of youth, thy blushing path,
Thy precious path of hope, aglimmer,
Never did I dare to tread upon,
Thy empty road of lifelong sinner,
Hath thy tongues of fiery rage,
Shall scorch thy pretty, painted faces,
Of souls in grief, awakening,
Grasping no semblance, of hiding places,
Do not I hear thy cry of birds?
Singing death hymns beneath thy window?
Yet, do not they fall from lofty sky,
With thy dying song, barren, dismal?
There sit on haunches, prowling wolves,
They of knowing, blazing eyes,
They watch, silent, in trenches deep,
Awaiting thy mere living, as we die…..
2002
Cristine M. DiMario
