Love Song of Darkaidia


From the vapors of despair,

I sing the bittersweet song of death.

When the world creaks and cracks,

I emerge as a thin glob,

seeping through your thoughts.
If I could tell you

what I really pondered,

From dusk to dawn,

from night to morning,

You would wonder how sane I remain.

And I would wonder how you

Still remain alive.
You and I,

I and you,

shall we tell of tales

stuck in woe.

Will there ever be

a moment where silence

is our tomb?
I pass a tunnel where there is no light

But I have sucked the darkness out.

It rests,

locked away in my palm.

Perhaps I shall find a reason

to unleash the mayhem

once upon a drain.

The stark waters beckon

Shall I answer their wayward call?

I hear them. They want me to return

Back to my roots

Where the rivers are born raging red

Where life turns dead at my touch

Where I am always a goddess

But my tiara is frozen

In time, in space, in another place,

In the raptured Underworld, do I dare eat an apple?

Or has its polished skin been tainted by your soul.

I once cared. But that was before you banished me

Back to the hell that is Arcadia.

Not to a room where Michelangelo

Has hanged himself

Upside down.

I believe he sought a better view

For His Sistine Chapel.

The mermaids still sing to me.

I still hear their shrill voices

Echo in my head.

Their call marches me to their doom.

But they do not know I seek

the silk taste of their blood in my veins.

Then their song shall cease.

I shall no longer be tormented.

When their vocal chords have been broken

Like a glass bottle

And their flesh consumed.

Do not compare me to a vampire.

I am far worse a creature than a monster.

I am more deadly than a viper.

But my venom is stronger.

So I shall return to my ink tea and spider strudel

Beneath the star-drenched moonlight

While the dismembered body of Prufrock

Lays, face-down, in the bath tub.

He can no longer ponder if he is Hamlet

Or if Lazarus shall be reborn.

We all know neither will happen.

And a severed mermaid head serves as our candle

For a night without the magic of light.

-Fotini (Tia) Polihros