Nocturnal Admission
Apologies to Seneca
Once again at night, Penthos
Is welcomed to my bed.
I gently cradle his hairless head,
As his ancient trimerous fingers
Lay entwined in three of mine.
My daemon knows me well.
We wallow in our grief
And, as the thief of joy,
He guides me through the lonely night.
We swim in the black waters of shame,
Then strip in the sluggish pool of blame
Below musty bending boughs of yew.
Two sounds pierce the gloom, one lugubrious, a loon,
The other an owl’s screech to reach the walls of Hell
And echo there where savage spirits dwell.
Dread is in the air.
But to be fair,
I welcome it,
Along with fear and pain,
Disease and failing breath.
I can only face the day
If guilt comes out to play
All night.
Only when Senectus,
The harbinger of death, appears
Am I reprieved,
Relieved of fears
And lamentations.
“Nepenthe,” he says,
Or so I think.
He offers me the drink.
With the dawn
My bedfellow is gone,
And with him
Most memories of sorrow.
Only stains and ashes on the sheets
Remain until tomorrow.
