Tuning in to Lazarus

Your heart, Lazarus,
returned from the realm of light
to a cascade of earthly voices
demanding intervention
Strangely channelling messages
on the tails of the wind
that stoked her questioning heart
tuned in to the songs you were playing
through your bandages
for some were familiar;
but every pulse of her being
rebelled at the onslaught
of Dante’s purgatory
that spilled forth
from your possession
She mirrored in it
an allegory to madness.
The wind laced her face
with a veil of sorrow
as she walked through
the first circle of hell,
where she saw sentinels of pain
ricochet on walls paved with
the devils of the future
in the ninth circle of treachery.
The kindness was
the weight of an anchor
trailing at sea and the ship
had never sailed.
so they read
the tea leaves together
and found only tannins of regrets,
notes of stale memories
festering on skin
like the blemishes on the moon,
a carcass of dead emotion
now that the soul had cruised
to a swan song.
The love had left the tea
and in the dregs of the leaves
were sunken hearts,
she knew this because,
lazarus had risen
after 8 minutes of flat lining
so he could bring back
the messages of the living
into the silence of the living dead.







Sometimes the divine muse is available to poetic license. I read about near death experiences recently and an observation of those that have had an NDE, resort to spirituality to help with the ensuing PTSD. Many of them also report turning psychic.

I am also intrigued by the fantastical relationship of Dante and Beatrice, as one of dedication and the glorification of the feminine as he sought to mould it in his writing. She never knew of his love but he exalted her to a stature of perfection in his writing especially after her death.

I find his use of Beatrice as a muse needs to be separated from his patriarchal proclivities to create the image of an unreal woman, a woman that does not exist.

I wonder though if he would ever love Beatrice the way he did if they shared a bed together or a love immersed in the temporal. His love for her did usher in his best work though.

Long live the muse.

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