son of aeolus,
i glide in whispered tones
across low valleys
where waters gather
the uprooted and discarded.
my kinsmen prefer
the hills and clouds
to join you
in the spectacle
of your brightest hour.
daughter of hyperion,
you long to illumine
the skies of avalon.
in lucent saffron robes
you hasten to rise
from dreary dreams
of night’s demise.
with careless ardor
you rush the gate
that none can open
without your fate.
its doors are iron,
grave and wet;
the moon casts
a silhouette
of lattice bars
with welded stars
circling in a vortex.
each night
supposing a fight
you charge
clashing to it.
your breath gasps,
hands trembling;
your pupils
wide and dark.
alas, the gate is heavy
burdened by your
forgetfulness,
your unknown disclaim.
though I
with all my might
heave storms of air
to aid your plight,
only a steely ode is heard
weaving through the vortex.
***
your eyes are soft
with tears aloft
cast for the morning dew.
i waft your hair,
gentle and fair,
as you turn into my whisper:
eos,
eos,
who art thou eos?
what dost thou seek to do?
***
the night is long,
full of regret,
for mortals persist the dream,
self-abandoned, shackled
with slick iron stars
to their ankles.
but you,
fierce lover,
don’t you remember?
it is you
of all creatures
who awakens old dreamers
to higher reverie.
even the gods
in all their power
rely upon you
to meet your hour.
***
morning star heralds
to weary hearts;
a scent of laurel
midst the dark.
the hour has come;
blinding and strong,
the chariot of apollo
haunts the morrow.
with all your might
you heave for his light
thrusting the gate
with your fervor.
clashes of iron,
glimmering passion,
forces that echo
steel from sorrow.
a thousand voices,
skirmish of choices;
yet only one
will shatter your disclaim.
***
eos, fire
burning white,
I am she
who molds with light.
wood to ash,
water air,
iron liquid,
does it dare?
time and fate
have always been
mine to dance
in amber scene.
the threshold,
now I see,
stands before
my victory.
***
weary hearts,
frozen starts,
do not despair.
I am dream light
that battles dream night.
I unleash a siege
of falling embers
that scorch your forsaken sky.
I am a torrent of sight
piercing the tomb of your night.
arise with abandon,
to ocher and crimson
beyond your horizon.
© 2009 Ron Herman