Mad and mindlessly meandering

I shall end my days

Sleeping beneath my ship

Which once bore me to golden futures

Now sinking into sand,

Despoiled and disintegrating.


Mad and mindlessly meandering,

Dreaming of Hypsypile, and of

Medea, before she became a bitch.

What was, what might have been, what is.

Medea about to murder her children

About Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
This entry was posted in Life, don't talk to me about life!. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Jason

  1. Alan says:

    (c) 2011 Alan Freshwater


Please comment!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s