Regrets are one of those things that should be considered luxuries: dwelling on the past does nothing to improve the future :)
Regrets Light, up ahead. He wondered at first if he was imagining it, Just like he wondered if he was imagining The steady footsteps, like heartbeats, Behind him.
Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap. Someone walking Just a little slower and having to hop-skip to keep up every now and then. The torch, olive wood soaked in olive oil Smells fine and is only slightly smoky, But now there's light. Up ahead.
The dog had watched him leave, Pass through the vast iron gates That rose to the heavens (But not to the actual heavens, that would be... Blasphemous, he decided) All three heads turning as he walked past And then turning back to see who walked Behind him.
Not just light now, but the outline Of winter trees, leafless, bare, Waiting for Demeter's kiss. Like sap surging in Spring his hopes rise And he wonders if he can, with his eyes, Confirm the evidence of his ears. The exit is just up ahead.
He turns his head. A fraction, no more. Barely enough to peer From the corner of an eye To see who follows him. Hope surges And he stumbles, puts his hands out And twists, unavoidably, as he lands, And the torch falls behind him.
A ghoul eyes him, without malice And lopes away into the darkness. For a moment he thought he recognised them; It could be Eurydice; it could. It should, if Hades is to be believed. But... was it?
Up ahead the exit expands and he walks out into sunlight A welcome change from the chill of the Underworld And he realises he has no regrets. The love of the past should stay there, not choking the future With a cold, dead grasp. He leaves that love behind him.
Regrets are one of those things that should be considered luxuries: dwelling on the past does nothing to improve the future :)
ReplyDeleteRegrets
Light, up ahead.
He wondered at first if he was imagining it,
Just like he wondered if he was imagining
The steady footsteps, like heartbeats,
Behind him.
Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap. Someone walking
Just a little slower and having to hop-skip
to keep up every now and then.
The torch, olive wood soaked in olive oil
Smells fine and is only slightly smoky,
But now there's light. Up ahead.
The dog had watched him leave,
Pass through the vast iron gates
That rose to the heavens
(But not to the actual heavens, that would be...
Blasphemous, he decided)
All three heads turning as he walked past
And then turning back to see who walked
Behind him.
Not just light now, but the outline
Of winter trees, leafless, bare,
Waiting for Demeter's kiss.
Like sap surging in Spring his hopes rise
And he wonders if he can, with his eyes,
Confirm the evidence of his ears.
The exit is just up ahead.
He turns his head.
A fraction, no more. Barely enough to peer
From the corner of an eye
To see who follows him. Hope surges
And he stumbles, puts his hands out
And twists, unavoidably, as he lands,
And the torch falls behind him.
A ghoul eyes him, without malice
And lopes away into the darkness.
For a moment he thought he recognised them;
It could be Eurydice; it could.
It should, if Hades is to be believed.
But... was it?
Up ahead the exit expands and he walks out into sunlight
A welcome change from the chill of the Underworld
And he realises he has no regrets.
The love of the past should stay there, not choking the future
With a cold, dead grasp.
He leaves that love behind him.
Greg - okay, so let's pretend I don't regret commencing comment responses sooner and just get on with it :P
ReplyDeleteOoh, this is spectacular. I certainly don't regret reading it! And I am most pleased to see you continuing to write in this area :)