Hundred Isles Of Skythe
© Surazeus
2025 08 18

Native to sorrow of my Mother Land,
where ghosts of my ancestors live in trees,
I send song of my heart on wind of time
so you can hear voice of my deathless soul
sing in silver laughter of the wild stream
that bears my memories to the golden sea.

Yet silent beauty of gold mountain slopes,
veiled by moon-glittered mist of aching hope,
call me to return across the fierce sea
to rugged island where my mother Skythe
stood tall as jagged peak of honesty
against rampaging horde of bitter thieves.

Heart-aching song of flute she played at dawn
still echoes soft in valley of my heart
three thousand years later with haunting tone
that shoots shiver of awe along my spine
so tears of loss flow down my wrinkled cheeks
because her face still glows clear in my mind.

I want to build huge castle of strong stone
to shelter her from storm of hungry greed
that drives aggressive men to clutch at wind
as they shout vainly that this land is theirs
till their bodies crumble into mute dirt
where their bones form foundation of her power.

Great empire she constructed with bold words,
that once enclosed the Hundred Isles of Skythe,
vanished from songs of people in the wind,
yet spirit of her heart, bright as sunlight,
gleams still on rugged hills in swirling mist
where ravens flock above lush Fairy Glen.

When I wake from dream of green hills in mist
three hours after midnight of flowing time,
I see elegant face of Skythe lit gold
as she grips serpent writhing in her hand
and tells me secret of eternal life
hidden in the scarlet egg of her heart.

Forever running toward the mountain peak,
I breathe attentive spirit of the sky,
then gaze back on long winding road of hope
I blazed from Skythia to the Promised Land
to understand how I achieved my aim,
then gaze far west with blazing eyes of faith.

Few may remember gleam of her green eyes,
verdant as looming mountains of her heart,
yet voice of her immortal spirit sings
in anguished cry that spirals from my breast
for Skythe still dreams in visions of my brain
that guide my journey to her isle of mist.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus climbs mountains slopes on the Isle of Skye to gaze with awe across the sparkling sea where Skythe stood singing in the mist of time.

#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #Transrealism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism