Category Archives: #analogies
April 23, 2021
THE SILVER AXE
By EPRobles
He wondered with horror how so many memories, so many forms to be branded on his skin and engrave there.
Then the wet rattle of a twisted throat, and he beats his last breath to his knees, gazed on from above as the wheezing thing sagged, and began on his shoes.
One God looked in that one eye of him, took in the whole writhing weight of him, and, from the spine of that beast, blew the darkness that will not let me alone!
It is yet again where we find the Poet’s Muse. Her eyes are green, and they pierce backward and forward even into his head and his heart, his brain and his soul.
I have been chained to this post for six months and now I am to be hanged, it’s a winter morning, half-light.
The axe’s face is pale; its teeth are ready to cut; the poet stands slack-jawed; and waits with a satisfied grimace.
She smiles with blind malignity; I am hanging here, she begins, and her voice gears in his head, makes him mad with every anger and whimpers sound with a silver-sparkle, It is another wish shattered, this one made to whittle the Golden Ace’s life down to a ring so narrow and brutish and pale and inhuman.
The writer cannot see her but his ears are mad With unspoken sounds.
She has left dark-green circles.
He had tried to fill them with wonder and beauty; she: they’re her, only more so, every blot and abrasion cunningly and by dark cunning by her own hand, ever more revolting; why the hell did you bring that creature with you?
There is nothing for you to do, (the axe growls). You cannot even reach me.
E.P. Robles | Poetry 