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Venus Shrugged

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Venus Shrugged

Tho’ I sought

To attain Her

This salt sphere

my first obligation

Pure drudgery in manifestation

Yet, still, and pure is the resolve

for emancipation.

River light,

Moon’s reflected sight,

Cupped in gentle bubbles of breeze.

Waves of midnight’s ecstasies,

Tease subtle considerations

Of what is and what may be.

Encumbered fear,

The chainéd sphere

Mocking realization

Whispers, “saltwater stings

So, beyond all things

Deafen ears to the river’s sigh.”

But rivers have a certain way

To change their course

Whenever they may

Dry science explains

The river’s how

But quietly she keeps the why.

In the dry

Far from the delta

Salted sphere contained

For shelter from rain and

Riverbank alike, the solemn duty

Ensuring Separation’s purity.

A certain Spring, I inured

of hermitage obtained, ensured

of obligations met, of duties

firmly set, heard a spell, a central

melody known, yet with harmonious tone

hitherto fore, unbeknownst.

Not only my ears

But Mockery’s too

Heard that song of undine tune

And in that space did Mockery

Slip and tighten too quickly

Its silky grip revealing

Upon the salted sphere and

The self it harnessed

Amidst the largesse of river song

The fear not mine but to Mock

Belonged, unentitled god on

Stolen throne.

Heard aloud, unquieted howl

Of Mockery’s ingenuine cowl

Dissonant and dreary revealed

The links of fearing. Thrown

Open wide the door of river’s

Rushing water floor. Away

With the roof, star and moon

Providing proof of Mockery’s

Insincerity.

Yet he is not such an one

To be so easily undone,

“There is no way to release me

Lest my links be counted

One, by one, by one. And even this

Yet not need be done, the river’s

Width you’ll never wade

For if dissolved your salted

Obligation eternally unpaid.

Every open wound endured

Shall sear if thou doth break me

And set released thine sphere.”

For the first time heard

The true words of Water

“I am not Mockery’s innocent daughter.”

Though which not I yet understood

She leant me the promise that I could.

Yet Mock lied not for once

About the means through

Which obligation’s chains

Are by necessity unlocked

One bright, starlit night could not

Undo the years of habit’s lot.

A third of a thousand

Triumphs of Day,

These chains of mine

One at a time inspected

Without Gordian relief

But with seamstress woe

And endeavour, plucked

Thread after thread

Regardless of prick

Of blood red, feeding unseen

The salted sphere

Solemnly bound

At the back of my head.

The salted sphere languidly

Lapped every last drop

Of salt sweat and copper blood

Without loss of integrity

To wax full as the moon

Alive and not dead, every scar

On my hands born of

Mockery’s undoing

An honoured debt paid

To a singular duty

Obligation allayed,

Mockery’s delusion.

Wayfarer lay waste

To the hut of illusion

Enter the House

Of liquid Seclusion

Time is no mouse, His

Hole built in the festering

Corners of hiding in-stead.

Be entranced on the bank

Of the River’s fold. Entrench

Your hold with footing

Assured of the path

Alluring. Let the River

Run red with thy Sphere of Enduring!

Fear not the span of my girth

Sang the River,

I have two banks, Earth

To Earth

Fear not my waters

You’ve salted

Fear not the state

That you’ve altered

Fear not to realize

That the tears that are cried

Sting not the eyes that

Have cried them.

© 2022 Oaksy

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