The Oracle and her Reader of Dreams

Sibylline
forgoes her empty weaving,
unwed and hanging
locked in a sad devotion’s
dank room.
Bells making racket aloft
in a chapel’s belfry –
her disdain swears in low breath:
Chastity in vain saving dictates
an evil affliction.

Her heart has cankered
borderline blasphemous
before when just a girl,
once betrayed by
misinterpreted dreams
for a lecherous, holy King.

Deities are leaving her
in dusty vapors
and frankincense
to vacate their vigil.

They’ve heard
no invocation,
they have no vacant time
for haunting comforts,
they can see his voice is
enough of divine for her,
a softer cover over her sins
when she slumbers,
the only Reader of her dreams.

Sibylline
casts her lots in eyes silent,
pining as do statuettes,
through simpler villages
to the north face
of the mountain.

Mute,
classically trained
for ritual chant,
she surrenders words
and rather harps on in strings,
the conditions of a prophecy
eluding her. But, these
uncertain things won’t give.

Moored to her bedpost,
swing shreds from
torn away mornings.
She wars a siege alone
she always loses

to a fortnight’s standstill,
a past King’s undead plan of ill-will,
and demons her Reader’s intimacy
with conquering nightmares
could even darkness kill.

But he’s got Beowulf’s blood,
back to ousting his monsters at sea.
She misses his legends terribly.

The urim and thummin
trundle through an uninspired roll,
portending the same dank room.

After cursing damnation
and groveling back
to its imprisoning,
chanting words into a
scripture’s semblance
is a coarse grinding,

yet finally, Sibylline
pricks belief:

“Love may be
a thorny blessing,
between
a curse on the Devil
and a prayer to God
but it was worth
the mortal
bleed.”

Published by

Asha Gowan

I am an aspiring poet, novelist, musician, visual artist, and a die hard jazz enthusiast (partial to writing). I did not have a choice in the matter as both of my parents are creative to the core. Van Gogh beautifully painted the artist's portrait with his words: "The more I think about it, the more I realize there is nothing more artistic than to love others." I've made that ideal the primary catalyst for my work. Born as one of nature's esthetes, beauty is the goal of every song, every poem, every piece of art. Beauty that will touch the hearts and minds of others. I try to design my art to be healing and empathetic. I study and find intriguing people of all kinds, which informs a lot of my insights. I've drawn inspiration on the art of positivity, of spiritual uplifting from writers like Throeau, John Muir, Ohiyesa (Charles Eastman), the psalmist David, etc. Seeking a unique verve in my style, I make thorough investigations of all sorts of art and challenge myself to the hilt for the growth of my ingenuity. I am eager to share my musings with everyone here and wish to disseminate them. Thank you!