Syrens

437px-Sir_Edward_John_Poynter_—_Cave_of_the_Storm_Nymphs

Sometimes we need not even move.

They come willingly to their ruin-

Sailors hot and salty. To those who volunteer, we show our best.

Others cling to their doomed ship, weeping, despite our tender

caresses. Alas.

Those we drag to the depths, with a fierce kiss to

Prolong their agonies.

All surrender eventually.

Thence to our haven cave. One sister to play upon her plaintive lyre

strung with ship’s cat guts.

The other to strum with her fingers

the never delivered golden gifts of

Newly-widowed wives.

I? To scatter coins and garnets like I do  men’s souls,

To distract myself from the one, the only one,

Who even at his demise stiffened-

Told me with his dying eyes

He would not change a thing for all the world.

He is gone, but that look remains.

Still it comes, as I come. As I remember.

 

Copyright Tom Tide 2016

 

 

 

Advertisements

One thought on “Syrens

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s