Supernova Hymeneal

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The following is a very personal poem on a matter too ripe and yet too distant to disclose. For the sake of clarity, it begins as a typical elegy, lamenting the (imminent) loss of something treasured. Gradually, a strongly heartfelt look to the future glimmers through questions, bordering the desperate. And finally in the fifth stanza, a supernovan force overtakes the mistral and buried imagery with a galactic declaration.

It is written in Spenserian verse, in which each stanza contains nine lines: eight lines in iambic pentameter followed by an ‘alexandrine’ line in iambic hexameter. The rhyme scheme is “ababbcbcc.” This format was inspired by Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene.

✵✵✵✵✵✵

Eventual Ode to a Supernova Hymeneal

(or, an interrupted elegy)

I

The blithe breeze sweeps into the pale roses,

Sifting through their jagged thicket of thorns.

An oath of lucid allegiance closes

On the blighting blade a mistral forewarns;

A tempest spun by imperiling Norns

Alight in bolts of suspended storm cells.

Here brews the remnants of sepulchered scorns,

In the gorge where the Weser River swells.

An augural order wherein the dísir dwells.

II

The beating of my heart has ceased to sound

In the empty arena of cosmos;

Foiling to return to a time unwound

Where our infinite gaze filled the hollows,

Now the yesteryear that clings to my bones

And seeps through my marrow of hushed sorrows.

Filling me with relics that I bemoan,

My keepsakes flicker still beneath the rotting stones.

III

I once dreamt of Aeolic paragons

Coaxed upon the melos of Alcaeous,

That told the tale of ardent carillons

In a steeple built o’er a tumulus;

Even galaxies die in cumulus

As we speed to escape our own shadows

That we have cast o’er trails of humulus,

To catch our fall when we trip into gallows

Where we dangle our last breath above the barrows.

IV

Left in the stillness that mine eyes recall,

The warmth of the sun radiates ochre,

Sweltering swarthy we enter nightfall

And verdure fields are stripped of clover.

Is the glow of amber springtide over?

Shall the fever in our veins burn anew?

A force to shift the embers with a stoker,

To rekindle the faded light in you,

Breathe into my being and let the fire through.

                                                 (I beg you.)

V

Supernovae shall erupt through stardust

And drain the filth of my heart through venules,

These shriveled, corporeal pathways long lost

And these joints locked in hypotheticals.

The candescence of our past flickers,

Mirrored in interstellar mediums;

Shock waves shall sweep up talc celestial

And spew forth the remnants beyond aeons;

We shall rise o’er the seascape, beamed forth as pheons.

By Quincy Childs

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