Betoken From The Mists - Old - Poem by Georgios Venetopoulos
For days we sailed beneath the Southern stars,
a route upon the unexplored, then, lines,
we heard a voice emerging from the brines,
'the ocean carries unforgiven mars.'
Three demons whirl'd upon the iron wood,
conjoined befools we danced; I blamed the grog,
we heard the gulls from the surrounding fog,
- abaft the stern, evanescing, becrowed.
We danced with Charon tracking us on sight,
his ghostly vessel floating in the dusk,
our premonition was macabre and brusque,
- with blinking in the distance his dead lights.
The vessel's dunnages then creaked; conjured
our recklessness conducted us to Hell
the bow bell rang inside the mists its knell
- I saw the orchard of those souls who erred.
I heard the reef rock shattering the bilge,
the vessel heeled to starboard, cut across,
then bedded on the bottom's seaweed moss.
its dimming lights nictating their effulge.
Our ship, thus, anchored on an orchard bed,
we danced and laughed throughout our way to yon,
how come you have not heard the bell and horn,
betoken from the mists that we were dead?
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