Here’s another poem from my 20-something year-old archives, freshly dusted off.
Audio recording (Hopefully better than Substack’s AI-voiceover):
The Purloined Plot
For far too long, I have believed
That something separate from myself
Speaks in whispers, falling dreams.
—I’ve answered all their calls.
I heard them as a younger man,
Though much louder and more frequent.
My youthful mind, in lesser wisdom
Harped them with soulful squawks.
Heady, unrefined, barbaric yawps
To mentors, teachers, kin.
Recognition sought
—and recollection within.
Humming tunes—never heard
Painting scenes—far-off worlds,
Sculpting beings—exotic grace
Conceiving structures, stations, ships,
Hung in the void of outer space.
Singing sagas, ballads, stories
Of hard-won, faded glories
—all unveiled before my gaze.
But one story that must be told
Eludes my sight, evades my grasp
—Slithering echoes, nothing more.
A soft susurrus, hidden lore
that bids me clasp
with clumsy claws its untold yore
—surely, the key I’ve sought.
Silent sleep in later years
Revealed its edges, bound by fears
Clarity cloaked in burnished frames
—that holds its portrait on the wall.
I’ll try, before the tale escapes my head—
Though many worms through it now bore.
—the dream slips further, even more.
But I remember this:
Being hurled against a wall
And what surprised me more
than the clash of brick on bone,
than any physical trauma
—was the hell awaiting, a deeper drama…
Why not strike at the heart of this tale?
I was then led out, after days, enchained
They dropped me on frosty grass.
My neck pressed onto icy wood,
No ceremony, nor last words said,
—the axe was falling fast.
The bright, curved blade,
the metal pick to strum my lullaby—
Descended toward my neck
—and the villagers were next.
Now was time to sleep…
The pain, it lingered on my skin.
It seemed I’d woken up
And deeper dreams of wandering,
Visions of costly victory evaporated quick
—and left me pondering.
Feeling numb, with open eyes,
A golden ball rose from the ground,
And looking up, I found
Its amber light now everywhere,
Within my bones, upon my skin
—and fused with the air around.
Something stirred from deep within.
Boom of thunder, soft spring rain:
The light that comes from earth and skies
Is the only thing that’s true.
You’ve let blank deeds parlay for you.
—True light’s reflected in your eyes.
No clue of who had spoken
Was I still dreaming? Now awoken,
No one there.
No form to match that loving care
That shook my being, caressed my ears,
—and ironed out all of my fears.