Day 13 ~ Rust ~ Voyages of a Ship Named Heart

The metamorph awakes
and the entire ship has been rendered transparent

She has learned the trick
of navigating the chambers and corridors of the Heart
by touch

Resonating in the hallways . . .
The sound of one violin (maybe a viola)
A bow scraping . . .
A knife cutting heart strings . . .
slowly
It’s the loneliest sound
in the ‘Verse

She finds the pilot in the center of the Ship
reclining in mid-air
(or so it appears)
Without speaking she turns to see
the World over which they are float

It is a place peopled by barren trees the color of rust
the color of old blood
forking up from the pulped-dank soil like frozen lightning bolts
And the irregularly shaped clumps of pewter cloud
are streaming through the tree fingers
like a rivers of mist

She notices convolutions in the mist
Fantasy Creatures the form and then disperse
All to the macabre strains
of a tormented viola

She says . . .
‘I wonder what the First Ones thought . . .
This is it
isn’t it?’
He remains silent
‘This is where we all came from
this is Heaven . . . isn’t it?
I can see why they left . . .’

She moves beside him
and kinda leans into him
a playful gesture
He says
“You haven’t told me your name”
She says
‘I’m saving it for a surprise’
He says
“Surprise me . . .”
She says
‘No’

She watches as the Beasts of Heaven
Form
change
dis-evolve
dissolve . . .
There is no pattern

The Ship Chimes lunch
the Pilot remains still
the viola plays . . .

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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