Don'T Look Back Poem by Linda Hepner

Don’t look back she said

I’m here I’m following

don’t turn round,

I’m here. Hard glistening

from long gone stars

sparkled on the water

lopping gently against the wooden boat.

Somewhere a dying swan sang

through the darkness

as they drifted rudderless across the river.



Her voice was low, melodious;

His lyre lay beside him

But his fingers would not pluck

taut strings.

His voice was stifled, fears

Filling his mind with unborn apprehensions.

She a phantom, he a fool

Deceived by the god of devastation,

A trick to madden minds,

A curse to cull him with the cruelty

Of loss, of emptiness.



It was his birthday; he had prayed

For one gift from the gods: his happiness

Which hung upon his love from summer days

When he and his beloved sang together.

In the sun he thought his feet

Would never falter if he had to bring her

Back from chasms, caves that never

saw the light of sky where one far day

He too would wander like all mortals.

He had heard of heroes who had gone

Down to the depths and lived again,

Stronger, wiser, fearless. But he went

Alone, without a guide, no wisdom leading

Him, no longing to be one with ancestors or

Warriors who fell for him in battle. His belief

Was all for love, and would depend

On bargains struck, on promises from evil, mocking kings.



Do not look back, said Death, you must rely on me,

My word will be enough, just look ahead.

She will be there, but wait until

She leaves my realm and you

Have reached the sun where sight

Dazzles the eyes and banishes shadows.

Then you may turn and pluck your strings

And she will sing and you will sleep

Before the night.


He spoke once: are you there?

She answered, yes I am. But don’t turn round,

For what you’ll see will be reflected in my eyes,

Your fear, your face. I too

Depend on you. Look forward, love,

Look up and sing, be patient in the boat

That brings us to the light, together we

Shall climb the banks and find the sun again.


The little boat slid to a stop

Upon the sandy shore

And lit by reflections like a million

Memorial candles up they climbed

And walked in silence through the wood.

The way was endless; in despair

He asked, beloved, are you here?

And just before the thinning of the trees

He turned and saw her - one brief moment of belief

and then she crumbled like an autumn leaf,

Blown by the wind, scattered like ash,

Dust to dust, leaving him not with wisdom

Not with hope, but blind,

Dead man plucking

His hollow lyre.


LRH

3.7.08