We’ll meet again in an Arcadian dream…
one man’s…is another’s nightmare.
Oh Lord give me not this phantasm
spectacle, high on Poppy seed euphoria
where fear is life itself. Utopia becomes
annihilated by my existence where
I dare no motion beyond that of breathing,
stranded within a non-tactile cage,
suffocating within my own
No, to a soul such as mine
beauty is found in the falling droplets of rain
on the far edge of thunderous
clouds, among wild flowers and ruling weeds. I
long not for Virgil’s divinity but for the homelands
of Pan and his impromptu essence worn by the
nymphs that walk at his side.
My horizon is cursed were it blessed
by a white Knight drawing to stand by me,
for is knowledge not wisdom?
Was it not always known?
Arcadia, home land to Pan, rustic beauty and wild music,
where the Dark Knight shares my throne.
Karen Hayward ©2017
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