Twelfth Fight – part 11 – Issue 32

TWELFTH FIGHT part the Eleventh

Frank is in Delirium Fields and his mind is striving to find itself in its new dark condition.

One such unconscious adventure has him lashed to a mast and he is the forecastle.

There’s no ill in this wind filling my chest

with treasured ambition to find my best

tether’d arms star-cross’d bind my blithe spirit

mind outstretched billowing hope to stir it

of a sudden becalmed at a grand gate

a tide of tears invite a love of Kate

they ebb with thoughts that she doth softly touch

deep mooring harbours dreams that hurt too much

music fades to every fathom plumbed

too easy bedfellows hope and despair be numbed

by the weight of his lachrymose sea

my body procrastinates o’er not to be

Kate, my sweet, oh failure, mad, not to live

sour sorrow in this parting, oh forgive

stupid anchor stirs this bed’s sentiment

first and last words love; all that’s said is meant

leaden eyelids cannot prevent visions

tho’ unity of strength’s beset by divisions

and dowdy doubt accuses you bowsprit

fate’s finger is to great heights or the pit

forsooth I thought I felt a warmth of hand

holding courting we in some good foreign land

wherein at last we might be weapon free

and philosophy’s glasses help us see

past arid malevolent ampersand

served better sentences we understand

in this darkness bounces a ball of light

its arc diminishing to something quiite slight

it rolls energy spent then stares at me

it blinks or winks asking ‘will you yet be?’

another voice chimes, tis death’s droll tone

saying sans soul here lies more flesh and bone

mocking me it takes a stance for drawing

and animates its skull as for jawing:

i’ve no ammunition for your foul play

I’ll not don your dismal blue mask today.

At that, death was enveloped by an ironic winding sheet falling from above. In one of its corners it had a single letter embroidered in red: K.

Frank, becalmed, thought he could see something, someone. Another shadow moved over him. However, this one had all the warmth of a woman’s love.

At once I fly in amongst downy cloud

full sail our prospects, adieu, yet, damn shroud.

through thy tempest, my mind lied, still alert

unrecognising the hap’ness you wert

eloquent talk of sweet nothingness

my breath sharper than cursory redress

anchoring my body in deep nowhere

better stranger life ere prosper o’er

and steely madness firing frigid fear

in rain and wind hollowed eyes would leer

encourage tender flesh foolish eschew

holding a Kate and not a deadly shrew.

Fie, your sound and fury hast my soul missed

and thy sting was taken when I was kissed

and her shadow stretched full sun to me

and I’m yet alive, canst thou fail to see.               …to be concluded

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