Fugitives From Orion Poem by Isabel Szurlej

Rings whirl enclosed—caught in their restive run.
We two hang nailed beneath o'erarching gloom,
Gasping under the moon's pitiless frost.
Then the Unknown on outspread pinions flies
And with it hastes the Adversary grim.
Morn from orient smites nocturnal doom,
And leaves its bareness standing in its wake.

Ere the Sun hath reach'd his destin'd station,
A star burst forth; its sunder'd burning wreck,
Scarred by shock, breathed cold, irradiant fires.
No dawn arose on Orion's bright fields,
Nor for the dwellers of his threefold belt.
O, that one thought had loosed them from their cares!

Once more a flame sprang forth, and farther worlds
Were scorch'd to cinder in a moment's blaze.
Fled from Orion, exiles haunt our path,
Deep in the Milky Way's snow-colour'd stream.
On the Snake-bearer fix'd their sole frail trust,
Whose healing craft, they dream'd, might rekindle
Orion's lamp, red-shoulder'd Betelgeuse.
Vain hope; Serpentarius may not break
Heav'n's settled law; high things keep place ordain'd.
Though he had learn'd to hold off death awhile,
Olympus builds her mansions but for blest
Enflamed with light of gods' immortal fire.

We are the lustre-alabaster souls,
Live crumbs cast down from some fall'n galaxy;
Heart-throbs immured in unanswering dark.
Systemic flaws through all their reckon'd sums
Ran, Fate's own scourge against this later race.
Some inward breach of mind and fantasy
Ravaged right reason, barr'd her royal gate.
Low grudging waves crawled down that branded track,
The so-call'd Axis mortals name but ill.