The idea for the following poem came from the background of an engraving by Gustave Doré, which struck a chord and set a mood. There's a troubled sky, a ghostly moon among the clouds, a ruined castle high up on a cliff. I found myself wondering what might be inside...
We are all phantoms here
Without comings, without goings
We are shadows cloaked in shadow
Gathered in this Hall
Where the distant hollow tolling
Of each fleeting earthly hour
And the ebb and flow of Ages
Are one, the same, and nothing
We are all but phantoms here
Gathered in this Hall
Down from vaulted darkness
Lit by flickering torchlight
Hangs the Tapestry of Time
Ancient, vast, and deep…
And in the Hall, two Sentries stand
Immoveable as statues
Eternally opposing
Their ancient charge to keep:
Left, there coils a Dragon
A dark and watchful Guardian
Poised, but ever waiting
With eyes that burn like coals
Right, there is an Angel
Blind, but always listening
The second of the Guardians
With a hand upon a sword
The Tapestry compels the eye
To follow jeweled patterns bright
That lead on into other themes
Far darker than any moonless night
There’s beauty there, but terror, too
For Life and Death are the coiling threads
The Weaver’s hand set on the loom
To weave our dreams of joy, and dread
Our phantom eyes are drawn to it
And back to it
And yet again
Drawn from the dim-lit Hall to drink
Its colors, light, and darkness in
Always hoping we might quench
The thirst of shadows
In a single draught
Always hopeful
Always hoping
But I have this to tell you, friend:
While the cup may be
As full as a sea
The thirst of shadows never ends…
Comment: Really fine work, Gregory. The last three lines seem to almost pop up and say "Boo!", but on rereading the poem, I find them inevitable. I look forward to reading more from you.
Comment: Yopo, glad to see your work again!
This poem meets my first test of good poetry . . . I keep reading it over and over again and each time find something I missed before. Folklore, art, theology, philosophy . . . Good poem!
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Name: Mary E. Adair
Email: Unlisted
Comment: Dear Friend, as I said on first seeing this poem, it brings a sense of deja vu with the accompanying yearning to recall more, in spite of the shivers it invokes. Yet, we know seem to know what futher memory can entail. Your three line coda gives fair warning to all.
