Ode to the Oneiroi
My flesh burns as if Nessus’ tunic donned,
A writhing agony, a searing pain,
Visited twice before and thought foregone,
Alas, this throbbing dolor strikes again.
Alack vigor enough to raise my pyre,
To drudge muddy earth for wood and tinder,
To stoop and shoulder life’s burdensome weight.
Nor know courage enough to light the fire,
And reduce this sod to ash and cinders,
And conclude the horror of mortal fate.
The anguish, the mis’ry, burning inside,
Snuffs the yearning ambitions of youth’s pride.
My waning mettle draws but one recourse,
An entreaty to the dark-wingèd truants,
A desp’rate plea to be from pain divorced,
E’er addled by some sleepy effluent.
O, for a quaff of Lethe’s waters to drain,
Or amusing ether to long inhale,
Or for a bale of fresh poppy to feast,
Whate’er liquor it be that lulls my brain,
Whate’er noxious gas to ease my travails,
Whate’er suffice to forestall pain’s increase.
A tincture, a potion, or laud’num draught,
So long as mortal pain can be forgot!
If not drink, wings, alike thee, grant me wings!
Not those waxed feathers of Daedalus’ craft,
Which doomed his Icarus to Ocean’s sink,
But mindful sails to hail thine lucid drafts.
To dreams, quiet and still, let thoughts flutter,
Let soaring spirit depart its prison,
Let body rest and permit soul’s escape.
O, masters of dreams, bequeath me rudder,
Let my mind’s vessel chase after visions,
And explore the reaches of thine dream-scape!
Plant ye pinions onto this depressed mind.
That life anew in thine domain it finds!
-Q-
@WindsPoetic