Sibyllica 5 - SilenceSibyllica - Silence
By Ceredwyn Ealanta
When at last there are no more of these...
Things, I have forgotten what...
To call them. In the end I suppose that -
They were not so important anyway.
I have my book and on its pages are
Lines that might have been graceful once -
But I am not certain that these marks
Ever meant anything important.
Above me is something vast and pale.
It is a colour, but I know no more terms
For shades or pigment, everything is
Faded - How bright it is above me.
There are no more of these...
Terms, perhaps, I cannot recall -
Something about that mass of breath
Above reminds me of...I am not certain.
I am not sure of anything now
Once it seemed important, I think,
And there are tear tracks in the dust
But it all means so little, I am losing the...
Words. That is what I meant. But
They don't really matter, I think
I will go to sleep and not dream
Under this uncaring weight.
I am very tired. I will lie down
And now there are no more of these...
Sibyllica 4 -The Last ProphesySibyllica - The last prophesy of the holocaust Sibyl
By Ceredwyn Ealanta
I flung my cry to the barren sky.
The impact turned it grey
And rain fell - rain!
And its burning pain
Washed the world away.
In the shadow by the bramble, in the cover of the rot,
Where a once-great oak has fallen, in the shelter of this spot...
Here I'll sit and watch the storm that rolls in from the hill.
Here where lightning struck before, and where it echoes still.
I open up the pages, I smell the dusty scent.
Of long forgotten sages, and time that has been spent.
And here beneath my fingers, the dim eyes of the blind
Is a whisper of a cruel place and a new and darker kind.
Whatever rises from the dust is all that we will become
And in the ruin of a helix our future is undone.
I close the book now, I speak the rule -
No pity for the weak in the hands of the cruel.
And now we have paid the price for the poison that we made
As offerings to mad Gods and the shadow of the grave
And none there are that walk by l
Sibyllica 3 - HospitalerHospitaler
I cannot make an end of the future that pleases me.
But if I could I would choose it to be cold and lovely.
I know what is to come - my nature burns with it
My skin crackles with electrical signals,
My hair lifts upon the slightest breeze
Though I see it not.
But now, at last, I do not want the fire
Of brilliant things, pretty flashes that sting more than they show.
I am afraid of living through it.
Were it frozen beauty before me, then I could face it.
Were it lights in cool greens and yellows on the horizon,
Blue ice, purple lips - these things I could encompass.
They would close about me as strong as lover's arms,
Crush and compress so that even my heart stopped
And chill fingers on my temple sway me to sleep.
My hair lifts on the breath of others about me,
My bloodstream sings with charge
And sometimes the nurses who touch my flesh
Are shocked by the static potential of the visionary.
I will not let them repair my eyes.
I do not want to be blind.
Now I see the end of all