I’m Noman, I’ve Noname

Cast off, discarded on the side of a hill
once redolent with forest, flowers, life
Now barren grey-black
a slag heap
teetering, near-sliding into the river remnant below

I, too, am a slag heap
cast off, used and discarded
Balancing, precarious
on the edge of an abyss

I feel a fool
I must use that word
A fool
I was sure, so sure
and, Muse, you assured me over and over,
like a fool, I believed.

Which of the gods sent you ?
Beckoning me to heaven
only to eject me once I had seen and tasted her beauty.
A slag heap, that is what remains

I will, once again,
pick myself up, unsteadily
begin to walk my path, alone,
shield gone, sword broken,
bloodied.
Alone, I will continue
until night falls or
until our paths again cross.

This slag heap, emotion, me
teetering
unsteady
cast off
was once redolent and beautiful.

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June 2017