Parnassus

And, as with the sirens whose songs taunted Ithacan ears,
pubescent promises tore me from the mast of innocence
to which I was so securely tied.

Waters, once clear and calm, safe and nurturing,
now ran deep, were pregnant with mystery,
anxiety, danger, the unknown.

At first I tried to return,
but after one glance of faint recognition,
Argos rolled over and died.

O Parnassus!

Childhood’
s balm, lost to Penelopean yearning—
and the mountain. . . barely a memory.

 

 

 

© 2002 Edward King

Edward King is the pen name of a retired commercial airline pilot living in Southern California. He is currently writing his memoirs.

For more of his work in TheScreamOnline, visit the Talent Index.

Contact Mr. King at oedipusrex[AT]comcast.net
(replace [AT] with @)

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