Parnassus
And, as with the sirens
whose songs taunted Ithacan ears,
pubescent promises tore me from the mast of innocence
to which I was so securely tied.
Waters, once clear and
calm, safe and nurturing,
now ran deep, were pregnant with mystery,
anxiety, danger, the unknown.
At first I tried to return,
but after one glance of faint recognition,
Argos rolled over and died.
O Parnassus!
Childhood’s
balm, lost to Penelopean yearning—
and the mountain. . . barely a memory.
© 2002 Edward King
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Edward King is the pen name of a retired commercial airline pilot living in Southern California. He is currently writing his memoirs. For more of his work in TheScreamOnline, visit the Talent Index. Contact
Mr. King at oedipusrex[AT]comcast.net |
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