Orpheus told me the other day that, if I wrought him a song that he couldn't sing, he'd take his lyre, unstring it, and, flinging it in Pluto's face, take back the love he couldn't forget from the forgotten and forgetting. Well, I tried, but I, for one, never burnt white enough to forge new words that only I could say, and sing, and hear. The old ones seemed to wear quite well, but Orpheus with his dictionary and his sideward bespectacled glance could always pronounce such a fire as would melt my tale to melody.
That is, until I flung him from the height
"the chord of love is one consuming flame."
And when his eyes drank it in and his fingers and tongue drank it in, and he saw the sun set in his own reflection, he chose the fate of all who read their own tales and find themselves, heel-bitten by the adder of perspective.
But in the end, it all melts down, doesn't it?
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Such a write as water to thirst
You have the most elegant touch to your wordings here and it flows so well into a delicate piece of writing. As gold rushes off the tongue so does knowledge of the essence of mind play
-
abstract and interesting. intellectual poem!
-
refreshing tale
great story. I love the part "And when his eyes drank it in and his fingers...." I felt that it was just too darn short, left me wanting more.
-
It is an interesting beginning to a story poem.
The line "That is, until I flung him from the height"
makes it sound like you threw him of a cliff or something so I had to go back and read it again!
you could tighten it up by deleting one of the phrases where you say "drank it in"
I think you should tell his side of the story as a dualing perspective to finish out the story.
Adding your comment:
