There is a subdued chaos lying
under our feet.
Stagnant
near-perfection
in our dreams.
Asphodel nightmares.
An ocean of people
just left from
Elysium.
How many of us
have you seen,
Acheron?
I see the
dead cypress roots wor-
ming their way into
line after
line of poetry and
hate you.
Are you hateless too?
Sometimes I wonder if
the shades knew that
Lethe
is Greek for oblivion
or if they capitalise their 'i's
even after they lose themselves
wandering.
(Sometimes I wonder
if I'm just another
s h a d o w
flitting across
these blank pages;
ghostly
flower bookmark
pretending to be
immortal.)
Maybe the reason I am
in love with nameless,
faceless narrators is because
I don't want to be one myself.
YOU ARE READING
Fields of Asphodel
PoetryA poetry collection inspired by mythology, nature, and poetry itself. The style will be a bit different to what I wrote for Clockwork Lives, but I feel personally that it is an improvement. :)