The Hollow Body of the Hour

Pain-afflicted Hour, whipped,
Mythical mist of night,

Embraced unearthly phantasm,
The fallen corpse of Autumn.

Gloomy, like Death, a spectral fog,
Crawled towards stony sky.
Ecstatic mournings, breaths of Sea,
Grazed, snow-covered plains of Cosmos.

White-frocked, unfleshed, the Shadows,

Flowed, spinned and danced, with epic silence,
On haunted, moonlit, celestial paths.

And Charon, black King of Dusk,
Counted graves, forgotten loves,
From Time, eroded tomb-stones.

Airy, illusory, vaporous,
Ghostly, the naked fairies,
Braided gold of hair,
Free-flowing always in the wind,
On twighlighted, Plutonian coasts.

But opened now, the wings of dream,
Now, shoved away,
Derelict, naked, hollow, dead,
The body of the Hour.

Thin rain, black rain, gray rain,
Drowned, in desperate cry, the stars,

Chilling necrology of the dead,

Like toy, the earth, spinned round.

The Hell dissolved, the Demons flew,

Then, later, ..... came the Dawn.












© 2000 George Pararas-Carayannis

The realization of truth is more difficult than its discovery.

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